


Remedy

by Radio Rascal (Vagrants)



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dialogue Heavy, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Mind Control, Implied/Referenced Torture, Mind Control, No Romance, Past Mind Control, Past Torture, Post-Canon, Recovery, Slave coding, Surgery, i'll also say which chapter the surgery tag is relevant for because that's also only in one chapter, offscreen death of canon character, temporary disability, the graphic depictions tag is only relevant in one chapter and i'll say when
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-09-01 20:10:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 27,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20263846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vagrants/pseuds/Radio%20Rascal
Summary: Soon after becoming Magnus, Optimus discovers that Sentinel did something terrible to the Decepticons, and it now falls upon him to fix things. Megatron is so addled he can no longer care for himself, but he's also the only one who can help the other Decepticons, so Optimus becomes directly involved with his recovery.When two bots are forced into close quarters like that, strange things can happen. Mortal enemies can learn to hate each other a little less, and in doing so, find a new way forward. Kindness might just be the remedy both of them need--that all of Cybertron needs.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> here it is!! the thing i've been working on since the middle of April!!! two drafts, over 50k written for it altogether, but this version will be just under 30k.
> 
> my two wonderful artists for this event were [charmehs](https://instagram.com/charmehs/) and [Chaoswolf12](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chaoswolf12/pseuds/Chaoswolf12). charmehs's piece is posted [here on twitter](https://twitter.com/charmehs/status/1162366342927921153) and [here on tumblr](https://charmehs.tumblr.com/post/187051290402/my-finished-piece-for-the-transformersbigbang) but Chaoswolf12's piece won't be until later.
> 
> go check it out! the piece is also embedded in this chapter, but the resolution got killed to fit on AO3 so it's best to go view it directly. it's been great doing this and collaborating with people.
> 
> i am very excited to share this, and hope you enjoy reading!

Optimus stood in the open office door and watched Sentinel seal a box on the floor.

“Need any help?”

Sentinel scowled at him. “From you? No. Go away.”

“This is my office now,” Optimus said. “You’re the one who’s not supposed to be here.” He wished he was better than this, but the look on Sentinel’s face was priceless. “Don’t blame me. The people voted.”

“I know! I was there!” Sentinel hefted the box in his arms and stormed towards the door. Optimus stepped to the side.

“You’ll still be a Prime. I’m not kicking you out. I wanted you to know that.”

Sentinel paused close to him, optics narrowing. “Good to know,” he snarled. He stomped out of the room, and probably would have slammed the door if his hands weren’t full. As he disappeared down the hall, he didn’t spare Optimus another glance.

He sighed. This wouldn’t be good for their friendship, not that there’d been one for centuries. Even when they stood next to each other, Sentinel was as distant as the galactic core. A part of him hoped they would grow together again someday, but now he saw the idea for the pipe dream it was. Sentinel could only be happy when he was on top, and the people made Optimus their Magnus.

The Magnus’s office had been stripped of personal affects, leaving it empty and almost devoid of color. Optimus walked over to the elegantly curved, intimidatingly wide desk and rested a hand on the smooth, dark grey material. A computer monitor, currently off, was built into the surface. The chair was tall and swoop-backed, made for a bigger bot than he. Behind it, a bookcase lined the back wall, full of unfamiliar heavy volumes. In one corner there was an ovular accent table that lacked knickknacks. He felt like he was standing in someone else’s tomb that had just been robbed—and he was one of the robbers.

His emotions were bound to be out of calibration; he’d been tense since his election several solar cycles ago and knew he wouldn’t feel better until he began his term. It would take time to get used to this, to process it, but he could finally start.

“Magnus?”

Optimus startled and turned around. Perceptor stood in the hall. “Hello, Perceptor. I’m sorry. I forgot you wanted to see me.”

“Is this a bad time?”

“No. I just saw Sentinel, is all. Please, come in.”

He stepped in and fixed Optimus with a look. “I’m glad we’re able to have this meeting so soon. I have something very important and sensitive to tell you. It’s imperative we get it settled as soon as possible.”

“It’s not bad, is it?”

“That depends on how you look at it, I believe. You should close and lock the door.”

“Oh. I do that by, uh…”

“The button by the computer monitor, to your left.”

“Ah! There.” With the door shut, he felt a bit trapped. He decided he disliked this part of being Magnus. “So what’s this about? You can have a seat.” Optimus settled into the big chair behind the desk, while Perceptor sat on the other side.

“It concerns the Decepticon prisoners,” he began.

“I’m keeping them in Trypticon,” Optimus said, wiggling around, wondering if it was possible to get comfortable in the chair at all. “They’ll rust in those cells.”

“The prisoners aren’t in their cells and haven’t been for some time.”

Optimus’s spark dropped out of his chest and through the floor. He leaned away, tipping his head back and tightening his fingers around the edge of the desk. “What?”

“They’re still in Autobot custody and don’t pose a threat. They just aren’t in their cells.”

“Where are they?”

“In a secret facility underneath Trypticon. Sentinel moved them there several months ago for the purpose of experimentation.” Perceptor fell quiet and stared, perhaps waiting to see Optimus’s reaction.

His processor integrated the words, examined their meanings, and read between the lines. His intake twitched, formed the first syllable of a word, then froze. All emotion had been shocked from him. Several months ago he was on the campaign trail, trying to oust Sentinel before he could do anything too disastrous. Optimus won, but was he too late? What had he inherited? What was Sentinel thinking?

“You’ve got to be kidding,” he said, his voice thin. “What do you mean, experimentation? What did you do to the Decepticons?”

“I believe I should explain from the beginning.”

“I believe you’re right.”

Perceptor placed his hands on the table and clasped them together. “Several months ago, Sentinel told me of his latest idea. Decepticons were originally built to be supersoldiers for the Commonwealth, but after their exile, use of Decepticon code was deemed too dangerous and outlawed. All our caches were emptied and shell blueprints were destroyed. Sentinel wanted to pacify the Decepticons and use them as soldiers again.

“I should tell you that he made it very clear that he had the necessary political swing to remove me from power. If I made a show of resisting him, he would have put me away and found someone else.”

“That’s not an excuse,” Optimus cut in. “You could have gone to me or somebody else. You didn’t have to do it. You could have even put a stop to it.”

“That’s all correct, Magnus, except for your last point. Sentinel’s effectiveness as a leader was questionable, but he knew how to manipulate both the public and his private institutions. He would have gotten what he wanted, and he would have ruined my career. My career is my life. These are Decepticons. For me the choice was easy, but that does not mean it was pleasant.”

He had to let it go for now. “What exactly did you do?”

“We call it ‘slave coding.’ The Decepticons were pacified using several rounds of personality restructuring, then reprogrammed to follow the orders of their designated ‘master.’”

“Sentinel.”

“And occasionally myself, for convenience. Sentinel could not be present in the lab for every testing day.”

“Slaves. You turned them into slaves,” Optimus said, tapping the desk for punctuation. “Did you think that was okay?”

“No,” Perceptor answered. “I may have deleted most of my personality, but enough of me remains to understand your outrage. It was my choice to become this, and it is not a choice one bot can make for another.”

“So they’re like you?”

“The process is similar.”

“I want this stopped,” Optimus said. “I want the slave code removed from all the cons, and I want them back in Trypticon.”

“That will be more difficult than you anticipate. The slave code is irreversible. It is too tightly interwoven with their natural systems, and if I were to remove it by brute force, they would die.”

Optimus stared, unsure of how to respond.

“There is a chance they could mentally restructure themselves,” Perceptor went on, “but that’s a process they would have to undertake on their own and it comes with its own risks and uncertainties.” He paused. “It would be good to show you, I think. We could go today.”

“I don’t think Megatron’s going to want to see me,” Optimus said, scoffing.

“Megatron won’t care, I assure you.” His inflection was flat, but something about his words were ominous. Optimus reflected.

“Okay. That’s why the rest of my schedule today is empty, isn’t it? You knew I’d want to go.” Until he was acclimated to being Magnus, other bots were handling his day-to-day activities. It made him feel like a protoform, but so did the complicated learning curve of his new job. Overall he was glad to have guidance.

“I made an educated guess based upon what I’ve seen of your behavior.” Perceptor stood and turned to the door. Optimus unlocked it for him. “I must make the arrangements. We high-ranking political figures have to give advance warning of our presences.”

“That’s fine. I need to make a call too.” He didn’t even remember until that moment and was glad Perceptor reminded him.

Downstairs, his friends were waiting to meet him again so they could explore the Magnus quarters together. Now he had different plans, and he had let his emotions dull before telling them. The least he could do was make sure they didn’t worry while he gathered information and figured out what to do.

He pressed a digit to his comm to turn it on. “Hey, guys, change of plans,” he said.

“What’s up?” Bumblebee answered.

“Perceptor needs me to go somewhere and it’s likely I’ll be gone all day. We’ll need to—what’s it called? Rain checking?”

“Take a raincheck,” Sari said. “That’s disappointing, but I guess it’s important Magnus business, huh?”

“It is. I’ll tell you more when I get back.”

“Where are you even going?” Bumblebee asked.

“I, uh, I don’t know.” Optimus was glad they weren’t in the room with him because he knew he was a bad liar. “But here he comes now, so I gotta run. I’ll see you later this evening.”

Perceptor looked in. “Are you ready, Magnus?”

“Yeah. Let’s go.” He stood and followed Perceptor into the hall. Anxiety tightened his lines. He was partially telling them the truth—he had no idea where he was going, or what would happen.

* * *

There was a small transport ship waiting outside for them. It only seated five bots, including the pilot, but it was the most luxurious aircraft he’d been in besides the Magnus’s flagship. Optimus and Perceptor took seats at opposite windows and in a few minutes they were lifting into the air.

It was almost as fast as a spaceship and had them over Kaon in a couple of hours. They went over too fast to have an impression of the city. Perceptor was quiet the entire time, and Optimus didn’t probe. He didn’t even know what questions to ask, if Perceptor would answer them, or if he wanted to know, so he looked out the window and tried to let his thoughts wander.

When he saw the tower in the distance, he straightened and glanced to Perceptor, who was staring straight ahead. “We’re almost there.”

Perceptor turned his head and nodded at Optimus. “Yes. It isn’t a long flight.”

Optimus gestured to the cabin door and leaned forward, as if that would make it easier to hear his faint whisper. “Does the pilot know?”

“The pilot doesn’t know. She cannot hear us, so whispering is unnecessary.”

“Oh. That makes sense.” It was obvious and a little embarrassing. Of course the Magnus would always have the highest level of privacy. He turned back to the window and fell silent again.

The ship descended fast, but Optimus felt no inertia. He didn’t sense the landing gear make impact and only knew they landed because Trypticon’s spire stopped moving outside his window. After a moment the pilot told them over intercom that they were clear to stand and move. He followed Perceptor onto the prison grounds.

From above the grounds looked small, but he had a different perspective now. Trypticon loomed in the distance like a glowing purple needle, sat in its moat of heated gel that could immobilize the strongest Autobot, and probably some Decepticons too. To either side of Optimus was a humming electric fence that stretched into the horizon, containing within it several square miles of flat, empty space. Escape would mean breaking out of Trypticon itself, getting over the moat, then somehow still having the stamina to run all this way.

The idea that there was an even more secretive, more inescapable unethical experiment dungeon somewhere around here was both ludicrous and unsurprising. “So where is it?”

Perceptor pointed to a structure a short distance away. “In that outbuilding. We’ll walk.”

It looked like any other shed. As they drew close, Optimus glanced around, searching for more building. “It’s not as big as I expected,” he said.

“It’s underground. This is an elevator.”

“That’s just what I wanted to hear.”

Perceptor enetered a code into a keypad on the door, opening it. The interior looked like a normal elevator cabin, though it was as large a cargo lift. Besides being in a shed, it looked totally average.

They stepped inside and the door slid shut. Instead of buttons for different floors, there was one scanner in the wall. Perceptor placed his hand upon it, the machine played an accepting tone, and then inertia tugged on Optimus’s body as the cabin descended.

He knew they weren’t that far underground, but there was a pressure on his shell, like the air was getting heavy. Nerves, he told himself. He may have squared off against Decepticons and lived, but this was something unexpected and unfamiliar. His body responded the only way it knew how, by getting ready for a fight.

The ride was long enough for him to get antsy. He was about to comment when the cabin stopped, jostling his internals.

The door opened to a nondescript room. It both looked and smelled empty, the air dull and cold. On the back wall were two heavy, riveted doors.

“Cameras are hidden within the elevator and walls of the facility,” Perceptor said. “If a staff member is not seen in the elevator, or if there is a breach within the holding pens, armored bulkheads are brought down to prevent either intrusion or escape. Turrets will also unfold from the walls. That’s never happened, but you’re not in the system, so be careful not to enter this room alone.”

“Uh, good to know.” Optimus tried to pick out where weapons might be hidden in the plain, blank grey metal. “So where are the cons?”

Perceptor pointed to the left door. “Those are the holding pens. The door on the right leads to the labs.”

“Don’t think we need those. I just wanna see the cons.”

Perceptor opened the door for him. Beyond was a hallway lined with force fields, like those in Trypticon. There was enough space that two of the cons could have stood shoulder to shoulder with room to spare. Several hundred feet ahead the path terminated in a large, heavy door.

Blitzwing and the liar Starscream occupied the nearest pair of cells. Lugnut and the sycophant Starscream were beyond them. All four leaned forward at their entrance and looked at Optimus. For a few seconds nobody moved or said anything.

“You!” Lugnut roared. He lifted a fist and struck the force field, bouncing back with a yelp.

“Lugnut,” Blitzwing said. “You shouldn’t do that.”

“You look lovely and menacing,” said the sycophant.

“We’re saved,” wailed the liar, cringing away out of sight.

“It’s his fault!” Lugnut didn’t stop his useless attacks. “We would be free if not for him! If it weren’t for him, Lord Megatron—”

“Lugnut, be quiet,” Perceptor said.

His jaw clamped shut. His optic narrowed and he lifted his fist again.

“Stop moving, now.”

He froze with his arm raised behind his head, and tipped backwards. He hit the floor with a crash.

“Is that...how it works?” Optimus asked.

“Yes,” Perceptor said.

“How long is he going to stay like that?”

“Until stasis lock unless I clear him. If he goes into stasis, he would not ‘remember’ his order when he woke and would return to normal by default. Lugnut, at ease.”

Lugnut picked himself up, growled at them, and sulked into a corner.

Since Blitzwing was the closest to “sensible” among the cons, Optimus walked over. He stood mere inches from the force field, ramrod straight with his wings pulled tight against his sides and his fists clenched to his thighs. His optics were bright Autobot blue, the good one as round as the other.

“Have you come to take your turn?” he asked, his voice dull, almost as monotone as Perceptor.

“Wh—no, I promise,” Optimus said. “I have some questions.”

“I may not have answers.”

“Just try? Okay, so, how long have you been down here?”

“Some months. It’s hard to keep the days without light and a malfunctioning chronometer. Mine never keeps its calibration.”

“Does that sound right, Perceptor?”

“Yes, Magnus.”

“Magnus?” Blitzwing frowned. “Sentinel is...not coming anymore?”

Optimus nodded. “That’s right, Blitzwing. And I’m making some changes around here.”

Blitzwing’s arms and wings relaxed.

“So when Perceptor tells you to do something, you have to do it? You can’t just ignore it?”

“No. We were programmed to be unable to resist. We can still do things under our own power, like talk or walk,” he demonstrated by pacing a short circle, “but if Perceptor commands us to do something, we lose our will to do anything else.”

“I’m sure you’d like to go back to normal, wouldn’t you?”

Blitzwing shrugged.

“What? You’ve just accepted it?”

“Do I look like the type who’s ever been in control of his own life? The yoke gets passed from someone’s servos to another, but I’m still trapped. It doesn’t matter to me.”

Optimus glanced at Perceptor.

“I’m sure you’re familiar with Blitzwing’s unique mental state. He’s been trapped in ‘icy’ mode the entire time. He’s very apathetic.”

“I like to think I’m realistic. But yes, I have been cut off from the strongest of my emotions ever since the surgery.” There was the faintest tremble in his wings.

“Well, we’ll fix that too,” Optimus said. “I’m fixing all of this.”

Blitzwing tilted his head. “I hope you try.”

Optimus moved down the corridor. The orange clone gawked in awe at him and he ignored the look. Past those four, the rest of the cells were empty. “Where’s Shockwave and Megatron?”

Perceptor was stoic as he said, “Shockwave died some time ago.”

“Shockwave was killed,” Blitzwing said. “You know what you did.”

For the first time since Optimus knew him, Perceptor reacted, by rubbing his palms together and producing a sick metallic noise. Whether it was an expression of anger, guilt, or something else, he couldn’t tell.

“Megatron is beyond that door,” Perceptor intoned. It was probably best not to ask further. He input another code into another keypad and the heavy frame swung inward. The corridor was short and contained one rippling force field at its end.

Megatron stood just behind it. His optics, bright and startling yellow, were open but he didn’t move or register their presence in any way. Optimus stared back at him, on edge, but as the seconds passed he realized there was something more at work here. That gaze was unnervingly intense but at the same time seemed to see nothing. “What’s wrong with him?”

“Megatron was programmed with a more severe, restrictive version of the slave coding,” Perceptor said. “He can’t do anything unless he is specifically ordered. Right now it seems he’s unconscious. You can tell by the tightness in his expression.”

“Unconscious? But he’s standing up? His optics are on?”

“Decepticons are equipped with extra computers in the limbs for fine motor control. In rare cases, or under specific conditions, the main processor in the head can be deactivated while the auxiliary computers retain function. Megatron is programmed to crash if he resists an order or is sufficiently angered, leaving his auxiliary computers in control. They can still receive and interpret data from his sensors, so he can respond to orders in this state, but he isn’t conscious of his surroundings or actions.”

“So he has no idea we’re here right now. Or anything.”

“That is correct.”

Optimus paused, thinking. “Open the cell.”

Perceptor input a code on a keypad. The force field descended, allowing a truly unbroken line of sight between them for the first time in a long while.

“Why are his optics yellow?” Optimus asked. Somehow, that was as puzzling as anything else.

“Sentinel wanted them to be blue, but he kept instantaneously changing them back. Megatron is resilient. It is also easy to reverse when compared to the other changes we made.”

Optimus thought of the other cons. “He’s the only one like that.”

“Yes.”

“_ He _ can fight it.”

“Can or will? I was never sure if the other Decepticons were unable to resist their programming, if they didn’t know how, or if they simply gave up where Megatron did not. Whether it is an ability or just a willingness, he is the only one who could disobey orders, which is why he is more restricted now.”

“He removed the codes? I thought you said that was impossible.”

“He never removed anything. He just wouldn’t listen to certain commands, or would stop himself in the middle of an action, usually by shouting and hitting something. With enough persistence we could still force him to obey, but it was troubling.”

“Troubling. Yeah.” Optimus strode up to the line in the floor that separated cell from hallway. He didn’t think Megatron could pretend to be unconscious with him so close, so Perceptor had to be right. “If I attacked him right now, what would he do?”

“That is not recommended, Magnus. His limbs might still retain some reflexive function.”

“I wasn’t going to do anything. I was wondering if he could defend himself.”

“He cannot fight, even in self-defense.” Perceptor paused, as if considering whether his next statement was worth it. “He cannot fuel himself nor initiate stasis either. He’ll eventually pass out if not placed in stasis but that is also against his will.”

Optimus identified all the damage from their last battle; they hadn’t done any repairs on Megatron, but they didn’t seem to have physically harmed him either. He took a step into the room, but warning bells in his mind went off and he backpedaled. “I—I need to think about this alone.”

“Shall I escort you above ground?”

“No, I’m just stepping out to the other cells. I need to clear my head and...figure out what I’m doing about this.” He stopped. “You’re sure this is irreversible?”

“Yes. Megatron has come the closest to breaking free. Even in this state, I assume he’s closer to being freed than the others.”

Optimus walked into the hall and entered one of the empty, open cells. He sat on the thin, uncomfortable berth and thought. The day’s events swarmed in his processor, and he had to let them settle before he could make a decision. There was a lot to consider.

First, though, he was angry. It was a physical anger, like an explosion, maybe even a supernova. He had nowhere else to put it so he kept it in, riding it out.

Of course Sentinel would do everything in his power to make the highest achievement of Optimus’s life as terrible as possible. If he were paranoid he’d consider the fleeting idea that Sentinel set this up deliberately—but that scrap heap wasn’t smart enough to do all this, throw the election, and pin it on Optimus. No, this was just a beautiful accident. Sentinel was probably getting overcharged and cheering himself up by thinking about this very scenario.

That was wrong—even Sentinel wasn’t _ that _ stupid. Optimus had all the power now and he had to know that. He had to know he could be thrown in Trypticon, ruined, and made into a nobody. The thought was tempting, very much so, but Optimus knew as he daydreamed about the look on Sentinel’s face that he wouldn’t do it.

Optimus sighed. There were more important things to worry about.

Fixing the Decepticons and putting them back in Trypticon wasn’t just the decent thing to do. It was for the good of all Cybertron. There were types like Sentinel all over the place, those who wanted to subjugate and freely abuse other bots because it made them feel powerful. They might dress up their motivations in different language, but it was the same evil underneath. Sentinel was no different than a million other tyrants across a million other planets; Optimus wasn’t fooled for a second that he would have only made Decepticons into slaves.

Suppose the Decepticons rescued their own and learned the technique, as well? It was imperative that he knew how to reverse this, if that were even possible; if it wasn’t possible, he needed to know how to defend against it. And there was no doubt about it—Megatron was his best option for that.

Regardless of blame, this was Optimus’s heavy responsibility now. He could carry it and deal with a few buckled servos. The cons had a point, after all. It was his fault they were here. Whatever they threw at him couldn’t be worse than Starscream clones or Lugnut Supremes or a Megatron who could fight.

He couldn’t do anything now. Even if he got out of here, someone would have to take care of him.

Cold exhiliration bloomed around Optimus’s spark. He knew what the best course of action was, but he hated it and tried to think of another way. His processor kept returning to the same place. Maybe Perceptor could give him another idea, or at least discourage him from his current thoughts.

He found Perceptor in Megatron’s room, looking like he’d stood still the entire time. “Hey, I was thinking…”

“Yes, Magnus?”

“What do you think if I were to take Megatron out of here?”

“I don’t understand.”

“The cons need to be fixed, and if Megatron can’t even eat on his own then he needs a caretaker. What if it was me?”

“What is your reasoning behind this suggestion?”

Optimus opened his mouth and forced out the words. “I’m the best bot for the job.”

“Caring for a Decepticon is not complex. Non-sentient drones tend to the other prisoners, and I am perfectly capable of refueling Megatron.”

“Yeah, but you said he crashes if he gets angry or resists. You think he’ll be able to calm down around you? I want to fix the cons, and that starts with Megatron. The first step is to get him to stop crashing, right?”

“I sense he won’t be happy with you either, Optimus Magnus.”

“I stand a better chance than you. Not to be mean, but I have emotions. And I also didn’t kill one of his followers.”

Perceptor was quiet for a second. “Your reasoning is logical.”

Optimus swore.

“What’s wrong?”

“I was hoping you’d give me an unshakable argument as to why it was stupid…”

“I apologize for upsetting you.”

“No, don’t be sorry. It’s just that this is ridiculous! It’s outrageous!” He stabbed a digit at Megatron. “This should never have happened! I don’t get Sentinel. I swear on my spark he wasn’t _ like this _ when we were in the Academy. I don’t know what’s wrong with him!”

Perceptor was quiet.

“Actually, I do know what’s wrong. He was always like this, but in secret. The more power he got, the worse he became. Being Magnus drove him crazy, I guess!”

“Sentinel was not liked,” Perceptor said.

Deflated, Optimus let his shoulders sag. He never did stay angry for long. “Besides, I’m sorta used to this kind of thing. My team sheltered our technorganic friend when she was little and her father went missing. It was a delicate situation, and none of us knew what we were doing. This is like a more extreme version of that, isn’t it?”

“Magnus, you shouldn’t tell your teammates about this.”

“What?” Optimus gaped at him. “Why not?”

“It is for the best if as few bots as possible know of this.”

“I agree, but I didn’t expect they’d be included in that. I mean, have you met them? They can keep a secret…” Bee came to mind. “I can make them keep a secret.”

“I strongly advise you against telling them.”

Optimus shook his head. “Okay, fine, whatever. We won’t argue about that yet.” He gestured to Megatron. “So how are we going to get him out of here?”

“The same way he was brought in. We’ll hide him in a crate and disguise him as cargo. I will call in the request, and in the meantime, I can program you into his system.”

“What?”

“As his master. It will be necessary if you are to care for him.”

“Oh...okay. Yeah. That makes sense.” Optimus squirmed in place. “I won’t lie, that makes me really uncomfortable. Is he going to call me that?”

“I can change it during the programming process.”

“Please.”

“Megatron, kneel on the floor,” Perceptor said.

Unlubricated joints ground together deeply as he bent his legs, lowering himself to one knee then the other. It was surreal to see Megatron blank-faced and obedient, responding to the order of an Autobot a fraction of his size. Once his head was within reach, Perceptor took off the helmet, pulled out a small device from his abdomen, and plugged a cord into one of the illuminated purple ports in Megatron’s protoform.

Whatever Perceptor did, it didn’t take long. Optimus saw the change happen. Megatron’s optics snapped to him with flat, sharp focus, devoid of their usual murderous glint. He shifted under the intense gaze and decided he preferred to see malice from a Decepticon.

“You may give orders now, Magnus,” Perceptor said, disengaging the cord and replacing the helmet.

“Um, okay,” Optimus started, vocalizer wobbling. “Megatron. G...get up.” He didn’t like how his voice shriveled.

Megatron shifted one leg to plant his foot on the floor and pushed himself upward, swinging the other leg straight, his joints creaking and screaming. He never took his optics away from Optimus, his gaze like two round yellow spotlights; it was a light that exposed but couldn’t judge. His obedience was mindless and his personhood, whatever still existed of him, was repressed under uncaring, unaware servitude. Sentinel hadn’t turned him into a slave, he’d turned him into a doll, and now he was in Optimus’s hands.

The weight of responsibility came down on him like a psychic blow and he had to turn away from his new charge, briefly unable to bear the sight or the full implications of what he’d just done. What was he thinking?

“Can’t I just order him to delete the code?”

“We have already tested what happens in that scenario,” Perceptor said. “It is not advised.”

“Is that what happened to Shockwave?”

“Some of it.”

Optimus sighed. “I guess it’s time to leave, isn’t it? There’s nothing else to do here.”

“I can’t think of anything. I’ll handle the other cons myself.”

“All right.” He turned back around. “Let’s go, Megatron. You can follow me, right?”

“Magnus, orders must be phrased as actionable statements.”

“Oh. Then, Megatron, follow me.”

The effect was instant. He took two steps, small ones for him, looming closer than Optimus liked. It wasn’t worth fussing with, though, so he turned and strode into the main hall, a little relieved in spite of himself when Megatron’s feet thudded after him.

The Decepticons pressed faces and hands against the force fields, trying to get a look at their leader. Optimus stood where they could all see him and glanced around. “Listen, all of you. What happened here, whatever it entailed, was wrong. Sentinel can’t do anything anymore. I’m Magnus now, and I say I’m fixing you and putting you back where you belong. Perceptor says the code can’t be removed, but he also says Megatron can fight orders, so I’m taking him with me.”

“No!” Lugnut slammed himself against the force field. It rippled but didn’t budge. “He’s our leader! You already took him from us once! He should be in our care!”

Optimus grimaced. “If I let you have him, it’d be easier for you to escape once you’re fixed. Besides, I’m not confident any of you could care for a cleaning drone, let alone a person.”

“He has a point,” Blitzwing said. “I can barely take care of myself. Besides, Lugnut, if he were with us, he would more quickly find out about…”

Lugnut grumbled to himself. “He did like Shockwave…”

“I promise I won’t harm him,” Optimus said. “It’s important to me that you’re all fixed, and he’s your best chance for that. I won’t leave you in the dark on him, either, I’ll keep you updated and let you see him.”

“That sounds agreeable,” Blitzwing said. “Doesn’t it, everyone?”

“No,” said the liar.

“Oh, yes, wonderful plan, but that’s to be expected from you,” the orange Starscream said.

Lugnut mumbled and shook his head, but voiced no real argument.

“I’ve got to go, then,” Optimus said. “Perceptor will be back to deal with the rest of you, but right now he’s helping me move Megatron to Iacon. I’ll get in contact sometime soon.”

He walked down the hall, Perceptor by his side and Megatron directly behind him. The cons looked at him with mixtures of frustration and judgment and reserved hope, but they gazed at their leader with both sorrow and trust. They were confident in someone, at least.

Optimus wished he could say the same, but whatever came next, good or bad, would take time. This had barely started.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the chapter when the surgery tag becomes relevant!
> 
> my second artist has completed their piece, which can be found on tumblr [here](https://chaoswolf12.tumblr.com/post/187206463328/second-picture-for-the-transformers-big-bang). the piece is based off a scene from chapter 4, so it will not be embedded until then.

The quarters designated for the Magnus were located on the top floor of the Metroplex, a convenient location for Optimus and Perceptor’s bizarre little heist. Their ship landed briefly on the roof to deposit a heavy metal crate, towards which no questions were directed. They would have to ascend since the roof access locked from the inside, so the ship carried them to the ground.

Perceptor assured him nobody was going to find, much less open, the mysterious box, and Megatron wasn’t going to wander off himself. Typically, flights weren’t allowed at all over the Metroplex, and if there was anyone in the Magnus quarters they would have no business on the roof. Optimus was still anxious to get him inside, away from the potential of prying eyes, and thus forgot who were waiting for him in the front lobby.

Bumblebee, with Sari perched on a shoulder, received him as soon as he stepped inside, bursting up at him with such energy that Perceptor startled backwards. Optimus was used to their exuberance, but he shrank inwardly, already disliking the interaction.

“Boss bot! Where’d ya go?” Bee asked. “What’d you see? Me and Sari have been taking bets about what you’ve been up to.”

“I don’t think you left the Metroplex,” Sari said. “I think it was a ruse!”

“N-no, I—” He glanced at Perceptor’s stern face. “I definitely left Iacon, but I can’t tell you much else right now.”

“What?” Bee and Sari exclaimed together.

“Look, it was—not a big deal, at all, in any way, I…”

“It was a secret weapons bunker,” Perceptor said.

The two latched onto that. “What kinda weapons?” Bee asked.

“I won’t tell you.”

“Aw!”

“Are you going to the new place now?” Sari looked back at Optimus. “I can’t wait to see it!”

“Yes, I’m going to the new place…” Optimus caught Perceptor’s gaze again, firm and unyielding. “But you guys can’t come.”

“But I thought we were staying the night!”

“Not tonight—there’s—stuff.” Optimus averted his optics.

Sari’s tone became soft. “What’s wrong, big guy? You know you can talk to us.”

“Yeah,” Bumblebee said. “You’ve told us all kinds of slag, what could be so bad now?”

“I just can’t,” Optimus said lamely. “I’m really sorry. I wish I could, but it’s very complicated and I don’t know if it would be good to tell you.”

“We’re not supposed to keep secrets,” Sari said.

Optimus looked at her. “I know. Things changed.”

The conversation halted for a good few seconds.

“It’ll be lonely up there all by yourself,” Bee said. “Bulkhead’s gone, now you...Ratchet stays at that clinic all day...it’s basically just me and Sari at the apartment now. And sometimes Jazz.”

“He probably won’t come by as much without Optimus there,” Sari replied. “So it is basically us.”

Optimus stepped away, physically repelled by their frustration. “I’m not leaving you guys. Bulkhead didn’t leave either. We can still hang out and do all the things we want to do. I’m just busier now.”

Bumblebee moved to the exit. “Well, you know where to find us when the high life gets boring,” he said.

“Good night, Optimus,” Sari said as they stepped through the automatic door.

“Good night, guys,” he called back. He turned to Perceptor, scowling. “I feel like a piece of scrap metal.”

“It was necessary.”

“Was it, though?”

“Think of it this way, Magnus. If they knew, they could complicate the situation. They might worry. They might argue. The knowledge might harm them psychologically.”

“Fine. But I don’t like it.” He’d liked surprisingly little since being elected and had never imagined it would be that way. “Let’s get everything settled in already. I need to rest.”

There was a special lift that led to the Magnus quarters. Perceptor guided him through the Metroplex, past the council room, court, and what felt like endless civil administrative offices. It was like a maze back there and he hoped he wouldn’t need someone to guide him every time. He barely realized they were there until he followed Perceptor into another elevator cabin. He was getting tired of these things.

The ride was short considering the distance. It opened onto a short hallway and what had to be his new front door. He already had the code, so he stepped up and put it into the keypad, thinking as he did so that it was the first thing he’d done by himself all day.

He stepped into a dark room. Automatic lights came on overhead as sensors detected his presence, illuminating an alcove that opened into a large room with sparse furnishings and cool colors. An enormous window took up one wall, and several doorways as well as a stairwell led off the other sides.

Temperature control had let the apartment fall cold in the absence of occupants, the chill making his face tense, but in seconds a machine started up in the background and the air grew warmer. It smelled and looked like it had been vacant for a while, because it had; Sentinel, as mere interim Magnus, hadn’t moved into the official quarters. Optimus walked further into the room and turned around once, taking it in, trying to rationalize that this was his now.

“The roof,” he said.

“Up those stairs,” Perceptor replied. “They go straight outside.”

Optimus climbed up. At the landing there was a branching hallway and no doubt another maze of rooms. He ignored it and continued to the next flight, which dead ended into the roof access door. He unlocked it and stepped out into a young night, Iacon’s lights already shining in the purple dusk.

As Perceptor assured him, the crate was still there, standing undisturbed like a monolith. Optimus pressed a button on the side and its walls fell open, revealing Megatron who was curled up tight, parts of him micro-transformed to fit in the box. His head was tucked into his chest but hopefully he could still hear.

“Megatron?”

His head popped out and yellow optics fixated on Optimus.

“Get up and follow me. We’re here.” Asides were pointless, he reminded himself; Megatron didn’t hear what he said, it was his computers that responded by taking data from the sensors in his head. They were programmed to respond in certain ways to certain phrases and they didn’t care about anything, including their location.

Megatron’s limbs shrieked even worse when he stood this time. The ride hadn’t been nice to him. He followed Optimus down the stairs and into the apartment, creaking and groaning loud enough to give the sturdiest bot anxiety.

Optimus stood on the landing and considered his next move. “I need to refuel and he probably does too,” he said. “Where’s the dispensary?”

“On the first level, through the door nearest the stairwell,” Perceptor replied.

The dispensery was bigger than any Optimus had ever seen, but for what seemed to be a practical reason. The open cabinets contained various types of fuel, labeled for convenience. There were barrels of crude oil and many kinds of both gas and kerosene—and cubes of bright pink energon, exotic substances of dark purple and powder blue with strange names, and opaque containers that reminded him of vials of poison he saw on a TV show.

He picked a barrel of plain crude oil. It was easy to recognize and right in front; it’d probably take a while to find the diesel if there was any. Scattered about the counters and island were tools for refining and changing one’s fuel of choice, but he couldn’t even name some of the devices and was just hungry, so he took it straight.

His gaze wandered and caught Megatron. “...Stop looking at me.”

Megatron’s optics went dark.

“I see he still has an attitude,” Optimus muttered, taking another sip.

“There is an element of interpretation in his responses,” Perceptor said. “It’s unknown how much of that is influenced by his personality.”

“That’s good to know,” Optimus said, finishing his oil and setting down the empty barrel. “What fuel is best for a Decepticon?”

“Flight modes work best on jet fuel, but any will do.”

He eyed the rainbow of fuels, wondering what it looked like and giving up right away. “...I doubt any Autobot keeps jet fuel lying around anyway.”

“Kerosene is the most similar.”

He grabbed a plain barrel of oil, unwilling to expend the mental effort. “Here, Megatron. Turn your optics back on and drink this.”

His optics brightened and focused on the proffered fuel. He lifted his hands and mechanically tightened his digits around the barrel, taking it from Optimus’s hands and lifting it to his face with jerking motions. Thankfully, his arms and face knew how to cooperate, albeit clumsily; he opened his mouth, pressed the barrel against his mouth and chin, tilted his head back, and drank without any assistance. It was a relief to see. Anything less would have been—awkward, to say the least.

“I need a list of phrases he can respond to,” Optimus said. “And how he’ll respond to them.”

Perceptor nodded. “I’ll send you one.”

“I ask because I really need to be in stasis and I’d might as well put him down at the same time.”

“Just tell him to initiate stasis and he will. Make sure he’s laying down first though. You can specify the number of hours, or wake him manually in the morning.”

Optimus took the empty barrel from Megatron’s hands and paused, looking down at it. The metal was dented where his digits didn’t know how much pressure to use. “This is so weird,” he said. “It’s so weird it’s like—it doesn’t feel weird. Does that make sense?”

“No.”

Optimus rolled his eyes. “Never mind.”

“Since you plan to go into stasis, I’ll leave now, unless you needed anything else,” Perceptor said.

“That’s fine. You can go. Thanks for everything.”

He tilted his head, but it was hard to tell if the motion was a reaction. “I’ll check in with you tomorrow.” He turned and left the dispensery, the front door swishing with his exit a second later.

The apartment was silent save for the electric hum of things operating out of sight. Megatron stared at him blandly, non-threatening and passive and somehow more trouble than when he could fight. Optimus had never begrudged his own nature before but now he wished he could have just left him, or thrown him back in Trypticon in this state, or shoved him off on some other bot. None of it would have been satisfying and Optimus knew it, and for the first time he really hated that part of himself. He hated how alone he was in this.

“Okay, let’s go,” he said, leaving the dispensary.

Megatron followed him up the stairs, where he paused at the branching hallway. To the right were two doors, four to the left; the guest berths were likely that way. Optimus looked in the first room and found he was right, so he guided his charge inside.

It was a luxurious and plain room, not fitting for a prisoner at all, and the berth was a bit narrow for a Decepticon. It would have to do.

“Get on the berth,” Optimus said.

Megatron climbed onto the slab of metal and stood looking down at him, his upper body hunched against the ceiling.

“I meant lay down. Lay down on the berth.”

Megatron lowered himself flat on his back.

“Okay, now, go into stasis.”

His optics darkened instantly and the little noises from inside his shell halted. Optimus watched him a moment just to make sure he was really in stasis, then left, locking the door behind him.

Logically he should have gone to his own berth, but instead he opened the other three doors. Two of them were identical to the first, and the last was a small washrack.

He went downstairs and wandered the rooms. He told himself it was because he wouldn’t be able to rest without knowing the layout, but in truth he was stalling. Beyond the front room was an entertainment den with a large screen, a simple gym, and a densely-packed library; he didn’t stay long enough in any to get more than a general impression of things. He looked but rarely touched things, and didn’t light anywhere for a second, knowing if he sat in a chair or on a counter he would want to go into stasis. It took a long time for him to corral his pacing to the upper level and even longer before he entered the Magnus’s berthroom.

He didn’t bother turning on the lights, picking things out by their silhouettes. Everything was oversized. This berth would have fit a Decepticon—PC Magnus had been a big bot, and had renovated much of the Metroplex in general to accommodate himself. Millions of years later, it meant Optimus felt very tiny and ridiculous in what was supposed to be his own home.

He forced himself to lay down and stretched out, his limbs not touching the berth’s edge. Shadows loomed over him. Thoughts looped in his processor. When he shut his optics, he saw Megatron and snapped them open again.

Megatron couldn’t move, was in stasis, and was locked in a room down the hall. Yet Optimus saw his red optics piercing the dark, his limbs unfolding with deep metal groans, and his huge shell standing upright, independent. He heard the heavy pounding of Megatron’s feet against the floor, and the slight grind of his joints as his fists clenched on the ends of swinging arms thick as tree trunks and strong enough to crush Autobot heads like tinfoil balls in his palm. He knew he was there, coming down the hall, raising his hand towards the berthroom door—Optimus stared at the seam where it met the wall, waiting for it to move, now—now—now—

Something crashed. Optimus leapt from the berth, drawing his ax before his feet hit the floor and standing in a combat pose. He wasn’t sure how long he stood like that, waiting for something to happen until he realized there was no threat. He relaxed. The hard part was next—he had to know what made that noise and there was one likely option.

He gripped his ax the whole way. Nothing was wrong in the hall and Megatron’s door was still locked. As he stepped in, he turned on the light. Megatron was face-down on the floor. Optimus tilted his head and stepped closer. Everything looked stable earlier.

A high but quiet whine came from inside Megatron, and his shell seemed to twitch the longer Optimus looked at him. Both were centered in his abdomen. He must have shaken himself straight off the berth.

“Get up,” Optimus said. “I mean wake up. Can you wake up?”

It took a second, but Megatron responded. He stood, looking completely disaffected as his belly continued to whine and tremble. His fans were roaring, and now that Optimus had stood there for a moment he noticed the air was considerably warmer near him. Something in his shell was overheating—or maybe this was normal for Decepticons.

_ Well, whatever, _ Optimus thought. He wished there was an extra layer of security between himself and Megatron and remembered he still had a pair of stasis cuffs on his person. He told Megatron to lay on the floor, since the berth was no longer an option, and had him raise his arms. As soon as the cuffs were on him, Optimus felt better.

He put Megatron back in stasis, gave him an affirmative, satisfied nod, and locked the door as he left. He locked the Magnus berthroom door as well and crawled onto the berth.

Though he was more comfortable, his stasis was fitful and dreamless, undercut with anxiety and a sense of being utterly alone.

* * *

Stasis didn’t last long. After a few hours Optimus gave up out of frustration and decided to take on the day. It was still dark when he left his berth and he wasn’t expected anywhere until well after sunrise. When he stepped into the hall the first thing he noticed was a familiar shrill noise that hadn’t been that loud before. He groaned and trudged over to check it out.

Optimus opened the door, turned on the lights, and halted in shock. Smoke huffed from Megatron’s abdominal vent and his body screamed in mechanical distress. The cloud wasn’t dark, but the malfunctioning component couldn’t be far from catching flame. Now he was very awake.

He pressed a digit to his comm. “Ratchet? Ratchet, wake up, please!”

“What is it?” Ratchet mumbled in reply.

“Can you come up to the Magnus quarters? By yourself? I need you and—just please hurry.”

“What’s wrong?” Ratchet was rousing himself, already sounding alert.

“I have to explain it to your face. I’m fine, it’s...something else. Don’t wake up anyone else, just come straight here. I’ll call the guards and tell them to let you in.”

“Kid, it ain’t even light out! Is there a bot in distress or not?”

“Yes! He’s in a lot of distress! It’s just—”

“Is he conscious?”

“No. He can’t—there’s smoke coming out.”

“I see. Well, I’ll be there soon. Hang on, keep calm, and be ready to put out any flames. Keep him stable.”

Optimus called the number he’d been given if he needed to contact the guards and told them to expect Ratchet. Then it was a waiting game. He stood by Megatron, ready to use his fire extinguishers. It was really a nasty sound and made him feel like his processor was vibrating in his skull.

It felt like a long time before he heard the front door open. “Optimus?”

He jogged to the stairwell and called, “Upstairs, Ratchet.” He stopped him on the landing, grimacing reflexively. “Look, something happened yesterday and I don’t quite know how to explain it…”

Ratchet tried to duck around Optimus’s side. He held a toolbox and a look of the highest consternation. “If you don’t let me at my patient, you’ll need doctorin’ later.”

“Please, wait. I need to tell you something important about your patient.” Optimus paused, summoning his courage. Staring into Ratchet’s glare, knowing what he had to say, was as frightening as facing down all the Decepticons at once. “He’s Megatron.”

Ratchet drew back, optics narrowed. “What?”

“He’s completely harmless. His processor was—it’s hard to explain. But he can’t do anything to me or you or anyone else right now, and he’s about to start a fire in my new house and I didn’t know what to do, and you were the only one, the only medic I knew and trusted, so you’re his only shot—”

“How is Megatron—why is Megatron—” Ratchet shook his head roughly. “Never mind. You said he’s about to catch fire. Let’s take care of that first, then you can tell me precisely how you got buried in so much slag.” He pushed past Optimus and marched down the hall.

“Remember, he can’t move or do anything to you,” Optimus said.

Ratchet strode through the open door and knelt by Megatron. “I’ll bet it’s a fan,” he said, putting his hands on Megatron’s abdominal armor. “Happens often enough. Things get caught in the blades, wrapped around the central unit, things heat up and get fiery. Where is it—ah.” He squeezed a certain specific portion of a seam, causing the red sections of the armor to pop open and the grey piece to lift, revealing protoform.

Megatron’s stomach was completely typical under the armor, thin and pale and softly rounded from all the components stored within. The smoke came out in thin trails, exiting his body through microperforations in his skin that served the purpose of heat control. Without the metal smothering it, the whine was louder and sharper, sounding like it wanted to burst out. Ratchet pressed two digits into the spot and grunted to himself.

He reached into the toolbox and pulled out a scalpel, pressed it into the smoking area, and incised a few feet across the stomach. Megatron’s protoform parted and grinned open the same as anyone else.

Ratchet pulled the cut wider with one hand and grabbed a pair of pliers with the other, then reached inside with a calm approaching nonchalance. The pliers bit something and he yanked, pulling out a fan module.

A long piece of metal had wound itself around the rotors and started to melt, as he’d said. He pulled the power cable from the back of the module, killing the noise.

“That’s better,” he said, turning the module over to look at it. He flicked the pliers, tossing the fan across the room.

“Doesn’t he need that?” Optimus asked.

“No. Cons have a lot of fans. They’re made to withstand very hot organic worlds.” As he spoke, he leaned close with a flashlight and shone it into Megatron. “I don’t see where that piece broke from. Could have been a chipped piece of casing from something in his chest. I’d have to do a full examination to be sure and I...don’t really care about being sure.”

He said that, but in the next few seconds he had his entire hand shoved under Megatron’s protoform and was frowning in concentration. “Nothing’s hot. That power cable is a little warm but nothing serious. It’ll still work.”

“What should I do if he ever does catch fire?”

“Put it out.”

“Yeah, okay, thanks Ratchet.”

Ignoring the sarcasm, Ratchet took a sheet of pliable, pale material—commonly known as an interface patch—and stuck it over the incision, pressing firmly to seal it to Megatron’s skin. His protoform would assimilate it and in a few days he’d look like nothing happened.

Ratchet folded his arms and, still sitting on his knees, stared up at Optimus.

He fidgeted. “I can explain…” There was nowhere else to start, so he walked Ratchet through it the same way Perceptor took him, beginning with Sentinel’s experiments and motivations, going through the facility under Trypticon, detouring briefly to explain the differences between Megatron and the other cons, and finally arriving at Megatron himself.

Ratchet was impassive through most of it, only raising a quizzical optic at some points, mostly that which concerned slave code itself. When Optimus, depleted, fell quiet at last, he waited a moment as if expecting more. Then he sighed. “Kid…you attract the weirdest kinds of people, do you know that?”

“Thoroughly.”

“You wanna  _ fix _ Megatron. You wanna fix  _ Megatron _ .”

“I know, it’s—”

“So you stick him in your guest room?” Ratchet exclaimed. “And then you don’t tell anyone?”

“Perceptor…”

“Acted like a politician, I’m sure! What do you think you should have done?”

Optimus bit his lip. “Told everyone. I saw Bee and Sari in the lobby earlier and hated having to let them down.”

“You’re the Magnus. Nobody can tell you what to do, but I can sure tell you when you’re being stupid.”

“But, what do you think—about this…?” He gestured generally, ignoring the sting from being scolded.

Ratchet considered Megatron. “It’s outlandish. I agree that something has to be done—you can’t just let this go, or try to patch it up with a lazy fix. But it’s not smart to keep him here, Optimus, you know that.”

“I assure you he can’t hurt me, and if he did, where would he go? They’d kill him as soon as he stepped out of this place. He’s too weak to defend himself even if he wasn’t like this.”

“That might be what he wants.”

“Perceptor thinks he’ll recover in stages, so we’ll know when he’s about to get to the stage where he can hurt people again, anyway,” Optimus said. “I feel safe.”

“No you don’t.”

“How do you know?”

“Why were you up at this time?” Ratchet displayed the time on a screen that popped up from his arm. Despite how long he felt he’d been awake, it was still an obscene hour. “You couldn’t rest knowing what was in here, could you?”

“So he makes me nervous—”

“That’s all the more reason you should have told us!”

“I think we’ve established that!”

Ratchet nodded smartly. He looked down again. “Now, servomechanics are pretty much the same everywhere, but code’s a lot different. It’s been a long time since I looked at a con so scanning him will take a while.”

“I thought you didn’t want to examine him.”

“Yeah, but then you started talking about slaves and fragging my processor. I need to take a look.” He scooted over to Megatron’s head and started opening panels.

“Thanks, Ratchet. Also, his joints make awful noise when he moves. Can you do something about that?”

Ratchet grumbled affirmatively and waved him away. Optimus went to his berthroom and sat down. His thoughts bounced from one thing to another, but despite his restlessness he didn’t get up. Nothing would have helped. After almost an hour, Ratchet found him, walking into the room while shaking his head.

“Well, I wasn’t expecting good news,” Optimus said.

“I’ve never seen anything like it. I wouldn’t even know where to begin. It’s like…” Ratchet scratched at his helm in puzzlement. “It’s like the slave code isn’t part of him. It’s something on top of him, and Megatron is under it, like a body crushed under a collapsed building. There’s a lot of code on him and it’s weird. Very weird.

“You said he’s disobedient, though, and that makes sense. He’s doing something to himself. There were tons of background processes I couldn’t touch or read underneath the slave stuff, so my guess is he’s fighting it.”

“Do you think he can win?”

Ratchet shrugged. “Too early to tell. Another thing not helping him is that some of his systems have been recently updated—I’m betting they did that to make the code possible in the first place. I don’t know to what extent Megatron’s systems have been changed, but it’s possible even he doesn’t know how to operate himself anymore.”

“Well, you did what you could,” Optimus said, standing. “Thanks again. I know that must have been...well, you know.”

“Yeah.” Ratchet frowned. “Oh, I did fix one thing. Dunno how it could have happened, maybe during his updates, but his left optic wasn’t sending visual data to his processor. He was half-blind until a few minutes ago.”

Optimus nodded. “That’s...good.”

“You’re worrying me more than him.”

“What?” He raised an optic. “Why?”

“You were just elected Magnus and you’re...doing this.” Ratchet gestured widely. “Do you even know you’ve gotten yourself into?”

“Perceptor said it wasn’t hard to care for the cons.”

“Oh, sure, it’s easy to give ‘em fuel and make sure they don’t catch fire. That’s not all you’re doing here.” Ratchet wagged a digit at him. “You’re rehabilitating a person. Not just a person, but Megatron. It’ll take more than keeping him alive to get him back to the way he used to be and I don’t think you realize that.”

Optimus drew away. “What are you talking about? You said yourself he’s fighting it on his own. I just have to leave him to it.”

Ratchet shook his head. “When someone suffers processor issues like these, they need people to be there for them. This is noble of you, but I’m concerned about what this will do to you, because you can’t treat him like an enemy or something to overcome.”

“I’m not!”

“I know you’re not, that’s part of my point. He tried to kill you. He puts you on edge, makes you defensive. Let me lay out a scenario for you. He never gets better. He never improves, and that code never budges an inch. Could you take care of him knowing there’s no end to it? Maybe he even makes himself worse. Maybe he does something by accident and he can’t respond to your orders anymore, so some bot would have to manually take care of him. Could you handle that? Physically, emotionally? Forever?”

“He’d rather die,” Optimus said, dodging the question.

Ratchet nodded. “Let’s say he somehow manages to ask you to kill him. Would you do that or would you keep him alive? Don’t answer, because you can’t know what you’d do in that situation until you’re in it. And that’s what I’m saying. There are a lot of variables here and you jumped into this blind.”

Optimus looked down at the floor. “It all happened so fast. It felt right.”

“You’re a good kid, but you’re in over your head,” Ratchet said softly. “We’re all here to help you if you let us.”

He looked up. “You’re right. I want to talk to everyone as soon as they’re awake. Alpha Trion wanted me in the morning for some court stuff but I have time before that.”

“I’ll make sure they get here.”

“Thanks for being so understanding, and I’m sorry about waking you up. See you later.”

Ratchet waved with the back of his hand as he headed for the door and left.

When he was sure he was alone, Optimus pressed his comm. “Perceptor, get up. We need to talk.”

* * *

Megatron awoke feeling puzzled. It took him a moment to realize he was seeing the world with his full sight again and that he was in a different place. It wasn’t a cell. His scans told him his mass had been reduced and his protoform was absorbing a bandage. How long had he been out this time? What did he sleep through?

A knock came to the door and his mind froze. “Hey, are you awake?”

That was Optimus’s voice.

Megatron was torn between fighting and remaining calm. His optic was fixed, and someone had patched his stomach, so he held out.

“If you are, stay that way,” Optimus went on. “I’m trying to help you and I need to talk to you. I’m coming in now.” He opened the door and stepped in, looking the same as Megatron remembered. The moment they made optic contact, he frowned. “Okay. This is really awkward.” He sat down cross-legged several feet away, hands resting on his knees. “So I bet you’re confused.”

_ Yes _ , but he couldn’t say so.

“I’m Magnus now,” Optimus said. “Sentinel doesn’t have power anymore, especially over you. I don’t even know where he is. Perceptor’s still around and he’s the one who told me about...what happened to you. I put an end to it so you can get better now. Then you’re going back to Trypticon. Don’t get angry! You can’t go away yet! I have more to say.

“You’re in a guest room in the Magnus quarters in Iacon right now. You’ve been here roughly a full day. It’s evening, the sun just set. Nobody has touched you or done anything with you unless necessary. Ratchet had to take a fan out of you very early in the morning, which I’m sure you’re feeling right now. I gave you fuel about an hour ago, and yes, I’m your—the one who makes you do things, now.”

He tilted his head forward slightly. Megatron wanted to pull away, but his physical form was so divorced from his mind he couldn’t even make his body want it. Instead of trying to do something and encountering resistance, it was like nothing was happening at all.

“Let me tell you how I’m going to do this. You get one ration of oil a day, and an hour of movement to prevent your joints from locking. This is all required to keep you alive and functioning well. Your exercise will be mostly following me around the apartment, so you’ll get to listen to or watch anything I have playing, or that my friends are playing. I doubt we have compatible tastes but you’re going to have to deal with it.

“You’re going to do your thing, however it works. Perceptor told me slave code has no known fix because it’s too interwoven with your system, but Ratchet told me it’s also something separate from your consciousness. I know you’re in there, Megatron. Your personality hasn’t been touched, it’s just been suppressed. I’m going to help draw you back out of there but for that to happen, you have to cooperate. You can’t get angry or you’ll knock yourself out. You can’t try to ignore me or you’ll knock yourself out. Like it or not, you depend on me now.”

Megatron squashed his blossoming resentment before it could become stronger. Optimus was on the whole more tolerable than Sentinel, at least.

“I was thinking, and, you know, I’m depending on you too. You see, I’m your only shot at recovery, but you’re my only chance for peace of mind. The other cons are fine but for whatever reason, be it depression or different systems or just your wonderful personality, you’re the only one who stands a chance of being fixed. If you can fix yourself, it’s possible we can develop a workaround for the others as well. They’re relying on us to make this work. All of Cybertron is relying on us. Slave code is way too dangerous and important to just...not do anything about.

“So that’s why you’re here and what’s going to happen to you in the foreseeable future,” Optimus said. “Does that sound good?”

Megatron answered by staying awake, the only way he could still communicate. Optimus seemed to understand, nodding once. In truth it sounded terrible, but it was the best chance Megatron had of regaining power. If he played his cards right, he might regain control while Optimus was vulnerable. He had to focus on that instead of dwelling on the shame and humiliation.

Optimus stood. “Now, I’ve got a lot to do, so—” His gaze wandered for a second. “My teammates just called me. They’re waiting downstairs to go somewhere. You’ll be alone for the rest of the evening. I wish I knew when you wanted to go into stasis, but you need to be awake to work on the code anyway, right? I’ll come back later and see if you, I don’t know, look more tired?”

He shut and locked the door behind him as he went, leaving Megatron alone.

It was indeed easier to make progress while awake. The programs he secretly left running had laid the groundwork for him, but the brunt of work fell on his conscious mind. He was far from eager or willing, but he turned himself inward, touching his code, and started his task. There was so much to be done; he was such a mess; it was enough to make even him feel small.

He ignored the sinking feeling in his spark that this was going to take a long, long time.


	3. Chapter 3

It was an interesting and difficult week. Optimus’s job began every morning when he left the apartment, and it was like stepping into a whirlwind that robbed him of all sense of direction or stability. Perceptor and Alpha Trion guided and advised him, but they couldn’t help the sensation of whiplash. His teammates were better for that; he spent as much time with them as possible, both because he needed their company and to make up for his recent distance.

They’d accepted the situation with varying degrees of ease, but wouldn’t step into the apartment until it was over. Optimus understood. They had scant time together each day, and hadn’t been able to actually do anything as a group, but just seeing them was good for him, because the apartment itself was far from a safe harbor where he could relax.

Contending with Megatron’s presence was enough, but most of the time he was awake and  _ watching _ things. He loomed over Optimus’s shoulder, following him from room to room in the mornings and evenings as part of an exercise regimen to prevent joint lock, and his complete silence was somehow worse than if he could speak. It didn’t help that his optics compulsively fixated on Optimus when they were around each other.

The first breakthrough came from there, and it helped alleviate the awkward tension. Megatron started pulling his gaze to other things after a few days of work. The change came with a shift in color; his optics descended through increasingly orange-tinted yellows, the pigments beginning to return to their natural preferred red. His mouth also began to twitch as if he was thinking of the possibility of a smile, frown, or grimace. It was hard to tell if his expressions were reactions, or the mechanical tests of someone trying to reclaim use of their own face.

As hard as this was for Optimus, he took some morbid comfort in seeing Megatron struggle. It was easy to tell when he was in a bad mood, because he only crashed from anger; his expression would be blank and taut in the morning or evening, or he would suddenly lose himself while not doing anything. He’d be out for a couple hours at least, half a day at most, and always came back with a short-lived despondent air.

When it came to responding to orders, however, he swallowed his pride and remained calm. It was impossible to tell how crashing impacted his progress, but his optics never reverted to that empty sunny yellow, so it didn’t seem like something to worry about. It did mean he hated this, passionately, and that gave Optimus an odd sense of camaraderie with him.

At the start of the second week, there was an appointment Optimus had been dreading. It was his first real council meeting where all the councilors would be in attendance, discussing situations both local and abroad and seeking his opinions on things. His whole shell was tense with anxiety, and as the day approached it felt like every spring in his body was winding up tighter and tighter until he was sure he’d snap.

He’d spent much of the last week being brought up to speed for this very occasion; Perceptor and Alpha Trion gave him so much to read he felt like he was a protoform in school being given homework. This would be like a test—his first real test as Magnus, and he and the rest of the council would see if he was truly programmed for it.

On the day of the meeting, he woke irritated from his own mounting anxiety. Checking on Megatron wasn’t something he wanted to do, but he forced himself to fetch oil and go back upstairs anyway. He didn’t feel like taking fuel at the moment, so hopefully Megatron wouldn’t have any surprises for his half-asleep, hungry processor.

He stepped into the room and woke Megatron, who immediately had a surprise for him. There was no trace of yellow left in his solid orange optics, making them noticeably different from last night. They hadn’t shifted, but rather jumped in hue. Optimus wasn’t sure what to make of it at first, and as he watched, Megatron’s expression truly changed for the first time. His optics widened and his mouth opened slightly in a display of soft surprise.

“That’s a sign of progress, right?” Optimus asked. “Can you do anything else new?”

Megatron’s optics narrowed as though he was considering it. He opened his mouth further and forced out a static noise. Optimus lifted an optic and exercised his patience, but kept an eye on the chronometer. He might have to cut this short for the meeting.

“May…” Megatron’s voice was thick and low. More static came out as he forced his voice to sound normal. “May I sit up?”

A little confused, Optimus answered reflexively. “Yes? Of course. You’re not that damaged.”

Megatron’s upper body tensed, and his arms twitched. His optics squeezed shut with intense concentration as he pressed his hands against the berth and tried to lift. It took almost a full minute for him to raise up and prop himself against the wall, and the entire time Optimus was glancing at his chronometer.

Judging by the look on Megatron’s face, that much effort tired him. He looked down and said, “May I lift my arms?”

“Yes?”

Megatron did so, bringing his digits to eye level and flexing them. He seemed satisfied.

“I think I understand.” Optimus presented the oil he’d brought. “Do you want this?”

“Yes. May I take it?”

“Sure.”

He focused on his right arm, carefully straightening his elbow while sticking out his digits. His movements were stilted and odd, which were assumedly a consequence of not being in control of himself for so long. Despite the difficulty, he got his digits around the barrel and took it into his own grasp.

“May I drink it?” His tone was becoming more frustrated. The novelty of his new freedom had worn off and he, like Optimus, was starting to see how annoying this could get.

“Yeah.”

Megatron drank quickly and Optimus took the empty barrel from him. “May I stand?”

“Go ahead.”

His legs didn’t move, but he did frown deeply. “May I stand?”

“Yes?”

He snarled. “May I—”

Optimus glanced at the chronometer at the same time and startled. “I have to go, Megatron. I’ll be late.” He received a glare, but turned and left the room without another word. What else was he supposed to do?

It was just in time, because Perceptor called him while he was going downstairs to ask if he was ready. The councilors were beginning to gather in the meeting chamber and expected him in a few minutes. Optimus affirmed he was on his way and ran out of the apartment.

Leaving Megatron alone always made him a little anxious. What if he had another breakthrough? What if he freed himself while Optimus was gone? Since he was recovering in stages, the plan was to cuff him when he got far enough, but was now far enough? It’d be a disaster if nobody was around to stop him from escaping, and escape would be very easy for a Decepticon near the top of a building. All he’d have to do is break that big picture window in the living room and fly away.

Optimus was stressed about everything and focusing on what he currently considered to be the lesser of two evils. He recognized this and tried to put it out of his mind for the time being. This meeting was important and he had to focus; everything else could wait.

The Autobot High Council met on the first floor of the Metroplex. Though it was the same building, it was so far away from his quarters that it was still like a commute. Bots saluted and greeted him as he went past and he tried his best to return the pleasantries, but everything was a blur with his thoughts elsewhere. It felt like a short walk by the time he arrived.

Stepping into the room where he’d once been interrogated and stripped of his Elite Guard candidacy was strange. Now he was Magnus and held the same power that Ultra had exacted upon him. It was more surreal than he thought it would be and he lingered for a moment in the doorway, reconciling his new experiences with his memories.

The councilors were in their seats, looking at him, so he shook himself from his reverie quickly and hurried over. The tallest podium in the center was for him, and though he knew what impression it gave to other people, it made him feel exposed, like he was on display and his councilors were judges. Once he was situated, Alpha Trion nodded at him and addressed the room in general.

“Are we prepared to begin?” He glanced at Optimus knowingly; he’d been told about everything. Alpha Trion was too important to be kept out of the loop. Cliffjumper and Botanica didn’t know, though, partially because Optimus wasn’t sure how they’d react. If they were ever told, it wouldn’t be for a long time.

“I believe so,” Optimus said. “Who wants to start?”

Cliffjumper raised a hand. “Magnus, sir, we still haven’t located Sentinel Prime. In fact, all our leads have run out. He’s just gone.”

It was a bad start to the meeting. While Optimus was learning about everything under Trypticon and figuring out what to do with the Decepticons, Sentinel had packed up and left without a trace. Nobody knew where he went or if he was even on Cybertron anymore. It was natural he’d want to flee, but he needed to come back and answer for what he did. Optimus needed to make sure he wasn’t making trouble anywhere else.

“Keep looking,” Optimus said. “He can’t just abandon his post like this.”

Cliffjumper saluted. That seemed to be the only thing on his agenda for today.

“Decepticon attacks on energon farms and other civilian infrastructures continue to increase,” Alpha Trion. “The people demand action, Magnus. Do you have a countermeasure?”

What could he do, besides send more bots? “We’ll increase the patrols again. I’ll be honest, I don’t know what to do.” He felt like that was the wrong thing to say. Perhaps it was his mind playing tricks on him, but everyone’s gazes seemed sharper. He scrambled for something to say. “I know! Send my team. They have a lot of experience and could show everyone a thing or two.”

It probably was the best he could do, but Optimus regretted the words as he spoke them. He didn’t want to send his family away and be here alone with his Magnus duties and Megatron. He’d been reconnecting with them after pushing them away, and now he was doing it again.

“Just tell me where you think they could help the most,” Optimus went on.

“I believe the Tetrahexians would appreciate them,” Alpha Trion replied. “That is where the majority of attacks have been concentrated as of late.”

“Okay. I’ll tell them after this.”

They moved onto more minor issues from there, discussing budgets and politics and various events that didn’t warrant strong emotion. Optimus did his best to focus, but all he could think of was the conversation he had to have in a short while. Their meeting was adjourned too soon for his liking, and he stayed in his seat long after everyone else had left.

It went well enough, so there was one positive. He regretted his decisions more with each passing second; he was doing things impulsively, following his instincts, and he was suddenly sure everything he’d done since being sworn in had been a grave mistake. Megatron shouldn’t be in his apartment, and he shouldn’t have said he’d send his family to fight without even talking to them first.

He called each of their numbers together. “Hey, guys? Anybody too busy to come to the Metroplex?”

“Nope,” Bumblebee chirped. “We can be there in a few clicks.”

“I’m already here,” Jazz said. “Usually am.”

Ratchet grumbled. “I’m busy.”

“No you’re not,” Bee said with a laugh. “You’re sitting right there…”

Ratchet sighed. “Is it important?”

“Yes. I wanted to talk to everyone face to face about it. Nothing’s wrong but I guess you could say it’s urgent.”

“On our way, boss bot.”

“Fine…”

“Meet me in the council room on the first floor. We’ll talk there.”

Optimus got out of the seat and waited for everyone by the door. Jazz got there first, followed shortly by Bumblebee, Ratchet, and Sari, who was perched as usual on Bee’s shoulder.

“What’s the deal?” Bee asked.

“I’m really sorry,” Optimus said before launching into his explanation. Understandably, the news agitated them.

“Tetrahex?” Ratchet exclaimed.

“You’re not even coming with us,” Bee said.

“I want to help you guys,” Sari said, throwing her arms up. “But I wanted to finish my actual training first!”

“I know,” Optimus said. “You don’t have to go. Nobody expects you to.”

“Probably wouldn’t want me there anyway…” Sari folded her arms and glared at the floor.

“I’ll stay behind with you,” Bee said, giving her a warm smile before looking at Ratchet and Jazz. “You guys can handle it without me, right?”

Sari smiled back. “Thanks, Bee, but I know you’d hate being here while everyone else was out there risking their sparks. I’ll be fine.”

“If you say so…”

“So it’s Bumblebee, Ratchet, and Jazz,” Optimus said. “I was going to call and see if I could get Bulkhead to join up with you too.”

Bumblebee scuffed his foot along the floor. “At least I’d get to see him again…”

“I can tell them you don’t want to do it,” Optimus said.

“I’ll fight!” Bee lifted his fists. “I just wish it was all of us going to bend Decepticon tailpipe instead of three, maybe four of us.”

“My patients at the clinic will have a tough time finding a new doctor on such short notice,” Ratchet muttered, then shrugged. “But they’ll manage.”

“I’m fine,” Jazz said. He’d remained as mild as ever. “I have to come back in a few weeks though. Dojo stuff.”

Optimus nodded.

“Well,” Ratchet sighed, turning to the door. “I better go call my patients.”

“Yeah I gotta pack,” Bee said. “And drop Sari off. See ya.” He zipped away before anyone could say anything to either of them, Sari waving her goodbyes as they went.

Jazz shrugged. “I got stuff to take care of too. Have a nice night, Magnus.” Then he left, and Optimus was alone.

That seemed to be the running theme of his life recently. Optimus was very tired and, with nothing else to do, decided to go home.

* * *

Megatron spent most of his time deep within the body he inhabited, lost in a maze of scrambled and unfamiliar code, trying to unbury his personality. The body he inhabited no longer felt like his own, though he knew it belonged to him. His mind was but a component of the shell, made redundant by the slave code and sequestered into a corner of the head’s processor. He was a formless consciousness, fighting a monster that was shaped like his reflection.

Forcing this enemy to concede ground was harder than any battle with any Autobot. Megatron tired easily and tried to take breaks, but he always returned to the fight within moments. It was difficult to resist. Sitting here like this was more painful than any physical torture.

He continued his increasingly threadbare efforts through the morning, but after encountering a frustrating problem that he couldn’t solve, decided it was time to rest. His mind turned off, leaving his body sitting upright and vacant. Sometime later, he woke to the sound of the door.

Megatron never thought he’d be excited to be in the presence of an Autobot, but he was eager to exercise his regained, albeit limited, freedom. He wondered if there were limits to the permissions he could request, and if his requests would help weaken the remaining code.

As usual, Optimus spent a couple hours by himself before going upstairs. When Optimus walked into the room, he looked more despondent than usual. Megatron cared little for Autobot feelings, but he’d get irritated if they got in the way of his progress.

“May I stand?” Megatron asked. It was strange, the way his voice box would only process some words, and only in questions.

Optimus sighed. “Yes.”

The word was like a key. His limbs were unlocked, but he knew he would lose access to them soon. He still had trouble moving them. This time he managed to push one leg almost straight, but couldn’t focus on both at the same time and collapsed to the berth again. His legs wouldn’t obey until he sought permission again. “May I stand?”

Optimus rubbed a hand down his face. “I don’t have the time or energy for this right now. Get up and follow me.”

Megatron fought to keep calm so he wouldn’t crash. His body responded fluidly to Optimus’s commands and he was once more locked in the back of his own processor, staring out at a world he couldn’t affect. “May I break something?”

Optimus’s expression darkened. “I’m trying to be patient. I had a bad day and I don’t know how to help you with this right now.”

_ You’ve had a difficult day? Really? _ His was worse.

“May I break something? May I break something?”  _ Oh, I can repeat it? _ He did that several times. Optimus stood there shocked, his expression gradually twisting in anger. It made Megatron want to laugh, but he couldn’t so he just kept asking to  _ break something _ .

“I shouldn’t have expected you to have sympathy,” Optimus said loudly to be heard over Megatron’s chant. “I already wish I hadn’t done this and you’re not helping me with that feeling. I have you lurking in my apartment while your Decepticons attack energon farms and hurt innocent bots, and I had to send my family away to fight them. Now you’re acting like...like I can’t be mad about it? You ruined my life and you ruined your own life! Everything is  _ your _ fault!”

Megatron couldn’t help his anger this time, and fell into darkness while wishing he could ask to smash the Magnus’s face in.

* * *

Optimus watched Megatron’s expression go blank and stiff. He shook his head and dismissed the order to be followed, then left the room alone. His emotions were still going and he didn’t want to be near the cause of it.

There was no reason for Megatron to take out his frustration like that, no matter how understandable. Optimus didn’t believe some of the things he’d said—he didn’t think his life had been ruined, and when he said Megatron ruined his own life he wasn’t assigning blame for the slave code, but now he thought he might have been misunderstood. He still had a right to express himself. He couldn’t believe the ancient warlord master of the Decepticons was that immature.

The rest of the day was free, so he spent it reading and watching some of his favorite vids. By the evening, he felt okay again—as okay as was possible. He had to set Megatron up for the night and resigned himself to it.

When Optimus opened the door, Megatron was conscious and averted his gaze. Did he look embarrassed or apprehensive? It was hard to tell.

“Do you want to go into stasis?” Optimus asked.

“Yes.”

“I’ll help you stand up tomorrow. I bet you could do it if you had something to hold onto.”

Megatron looked over, his expression relaxing.

“Do I regret all of this? Yeah. I wish it hadn’t happened, but you won’t make me give up that easily. Just...think about it from your perspective. If you’re rude to me for no reason, it makes it harder for me to help you.”

His face remained mild, so Optimus assumed he agreed.

“Is there anything else you want?”

“May I lay down and initiate stasis?”

“Yes.”

Laying down was easier than getting up. Megatron managed the entire action without incident and shut his optics.

Optimus left for his own berth. He was starting to feel okay again and was sure he’d feel better in the morning. Even though he was alone and had a lot to deal with, he knew he could do this. Soon, Megatron would be back in prison and this would be a strange story he recounted to people.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [here is the link again to Chaoswolf12's amazing art piece!](https://chaoswolf12.tumblr.com/post/187206463328/second-picture-for-the-transformers-big-bang) go show them love!
> 
> i hope embedding works as i am posting this from my phone and won't be on desktop all day!
> 
> also, since we're out of August, i am allowed to post more than once a week. would everyone like it if i posted the next chapters on Monday and Wednesday? the chapters are about this length again and i don't want to give people too much to read. let me know!

Optimus had spent hours pouring over the latest proposal from the council and felt his focus starting to drift. Out of the corner of his optic, he saw Megatron’s ever-present scowl deepen and looked up from his datapad. “What is it?”

“May I go to the dispensary, pick up a barrel of kerosene, and drink it?”

“Yeah.”

Megatron disappeared from the study. After his initial breakthrough, he improved fast and didn’t stumble or struggle with his voice anymore. Even Ratchet was optimistic that whatever he was doing was working—Optimus shared status updates with both him and the other cons. There’d been the fear that it would take much longer for Megatron to reach this state, but now he couldn’t be far from total recovery. Despite the occasional frustrations, the progress was nothing more than encouraging.

He typed some notes down on his computer and abandoned the reading for now. Though Megatron still wasn’t independent, Optimus was wary of leaving him alone for long, so he went downstairs. After a month, it was still jarring and strange to turn a corner to see a Decepticon just standing there, but he didn’t flinch or want to grab his ax. It was abnormal to see Megatron standing in the dispensary, but it wasn’t dangerous.

“At this rate you’ll be fixed by the end of next month, I bet,” Optimus said, strolling in.

Megatron’s face darkened.

“You know you can’t get out of it. And I know you don’t want to stay like this, either.”

His mouth twisted and optics narrowed with intense concentration, but he was silent. He often wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words, his restricted language center not allowing him to access certain speech. If there were rules to it, they were inscrutible to an outside observer. Right now Optimus imagined he was trying to access something vulgar. After a few seconds he gave up and averted his gaze, studying the fuel shelves.

“Hey, at least you won’t have anything to do with me anymore.”

Megatron glanced at him sideways. “May I go to the room where I sleep upstairs?” His word choices were sometimes curious when he managed to formulate a request, too.

“Yes.” As if the word unstuck his feet from the floor, Megatron rocketed towards the door. “I’m going to bed in an hour,” Optimus called as he disappeared upstairs. Hopefully self-initiated stasis would be the next breakthrough. One time he forgot and Megatron acted petty about it the next day.

There was nothing pressing to demand his attention, which was rare, so he indulged the opportunity to relax. Twenty minutes later he was zoned out in front of the picture window, watching the glowing nighttime city. His thoughts wandered nowhere in particular. He’d done a lot of staring at screens and doing cerebral work, so he didn’t feel like his usual pastime of watching history vids. It was nice to just stand around sometimes. Being Magnus taught him that.

A huge crash came above him, so hard the walls and floor vibrated. He instinctively froze until the room stabilized. His first thought was What was that, followed by, Megatron? How? Maybe his weight made something snap and the floor was about to fall out under him. This house wasn’t made for Decepticons. Optimus rushed up the stairs to find out.

* * *

He didn’t know what happened. One moment he was gathering strings of code to delete, and in an instant his equilibrium stabilizers deactivated and his limbs went numb, preventing him from reflexively catching himself as he struck the floor. His chest, taking most of the impact, rattled and cracked and his protoform almost came loose from its bindings.

Warnings flashed, alerting Megatron of a non-serious but unusual spike of stress around his spark chamber. His head hung towards the floor at an uncomfortable angle and he couldn’t do anything about it, and he wouldn’t be able to do anything about any broken components or snapped bindings either. His optics were stuck. No words worked when he tried to call out. He was trapped in himself again; the shadow had descended between his consciousness and his processor.

Despite himself, he began to panic, and threw himself at his internal processes, digging through them to find an answer. His head hurt. It seemed more wrong than usual. What had he done?

He heard Optimus’s footsteps pounding up the stairs. He tried in vain to control his limbs, or unlock his voice, or even just blink. Anything to give him hope that he didn’t really need help and this would resolve itself shortly. By the time Optimus threw open the door, he was beginning to think he was wrong about that.

“Everything okay in here?” he asked, stepping around Megatron so his foot appeared in the corner of his sight. His enslaved gaze, usually eager to snap to his designated controller, didn’t budge. He began to fear. “Why are you on the floor? What happened? Megatron?” Optimus knelt and tilted his head so one blue optic was shining on his face. “Your optics are yellow again. I don’t think that’s good.”

It was what Megatron expected, but it still struck him like a physical blow. Optimus would have done less damage by punching him.

“Stand up,” he said. Megatron didn’t respond. “I’m calling Ratchet. I’ll put him on speaker.” He pressed his audial. “Ratchet!”

“Is this gonna be a monthly thing? Calling me in the middle of the night?”

“There’s a problem with Megatron. He collapsed and it’s like he’s back at square one but he can’t move and it’s kinda freaking me out.”

“Slow down. What happened?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t in the room.” Optimus’s speech slowed. “I heard a crash, so I came to see what was going on, and he was on the floor. His optics are yellow, like they were before, and he’s got that blank look, but he won’t respond to anything I say. I don’t know if his limbs stopped working or I’m somehow not...you know...able to do anything, or what.”

“All right.” Ratchet paused. “It probably has to do with the slave code, but paralysis like this can also be a spark or processor issue. Spark’s less likely, but more important. Is he on his back or side?”

“Stomach.”

“Roll him over so you can get at his chest and open him up. The seam to pop him should be right under the arm.”

“Ratchet, I can’t do surgery,” Optimus replied.

“No surgery, I just want you to check for irregularities.”

“If I were to do surgery I’d need to get a toolbox from the lower levels…” Optimus placed his hands on Megatron’s shoulder and hefted a little with a grunt of effort. He backed away, showing off the corner of a frown, and approached again at a lower angle. Wedging his hands under Megatron’s chest, he shoved the massive shell as hard as he could and forced part of his shoulder underneath so he could push with his legs.

Megatron tilted and his head lolled towards his busted shoulder. Optimus searched for the release seam and found it pretty quickly. Megatron’s plates popped open of their own accord, exposing his spark to the air and to an Autobot. This had happened before, and he’d even bared his spark chamber willingly, but this was out of his control and he was aware of it as it was happening.

His first instinct, immediate and forceful, was that he was certainly about to die.

“Okay, he’s open.”

“Are there any irregularities? Too bright, too dim, strange coloration, static around the chamber, stuff stuck in there?”

“No. Nothing. It’s a normal spark.”

“Set a timer and count his sparkbeats for thirty seconds.”

“All right, I’m doing that now.” Optimus concentrated on the spark, while Megatron willed it to be calm. There was no danger. Not from Optimus Magnus. “Fifty-two sparkbeats in thirty seconds,” he declared.

“That’s a bit high, but I’m betting he’s stressed.”

“He’s conscious.”

“If there’s nothing else unusual, it’s likely his emotions. Don’t freak him out just in case.”

“I don’t think there’s anything I could do that would bother him more than what’s going on.”

“You can close his chamber now and move on to his processor. You’re checking for physical problems—overheating, deformation, that sort of thing.”

If only he could tell them his head was fine and the problem lay in his code. Watching them flounder around to the conclusion themselves was irritating, but he tempered himself before it became infuriating. Despite his misery he didn’t want to lose consciousness. He had no control either way but there was a strained comfort in being able to see what they did to him.

Optimus grasped the pieces on the sides of his helmet and pulled it off. It disconnected with an uncomfortable static tingle. The silver chevron over his optics stayed on, forming a band around his processor that kept the protoform stable. Optimus tugged on it a couple times, sending displeasurable twinges down Megatron’s neck, before directing his attention elsewhere.

He patted around lightly, checking for hot spots or deformities. “Nothing,” he reported to Ratchet.

“Should’ve known it wouldn’t be simple.” Ratchet sighed. “I need to look at him myself. The soonest I can get somebody to cover for me and get back to Iacon would be in the morning sometime around sunrise, so keep an optic on him and don’t move him.”

“Okay,” Optimus said. “Thanks, Ratchet. I’m really glad you responded so quickly.”

“It’s my job. Try to relax until then, Magnus. You were freaking out.”

“I know. It’s just, what if this really is permanent?”

Those words were like a stab through his spark, but he had thought it himself. Optimus wasn’t wrong for voicing it.

“We’ll see. I gotta go now. I’ll hurry as much as I can.”

“Goodbye, Ratchet.” Optimus heaved a sigh and picked up the helmet to put it back on. As he backed away, he locked optics with Megatron. “This is a mess. Guess I’m not getting any stasis tonight...at least my appointment tomorrow is in the evening…” He grimaced. “I’m still gonna feel like scrap.”

Megatron wasn’t paying attention to him. His processor spun with the shock and despair of the last several minutes. Before, he’d held back his anger, but now it was gone. There was a numbness in his spark. The enormity of what just happened and what it implied pressed upon him, tighter and more painful than the slave code itself, and as he grasped what lay ahead he wanted to scream.

Optimus got up. “I can’t just sit here like this. I’ll be back in a minute.” He left and returned with a datapad in one hand. “If I have to sit up all night making sure you don’t explode, then I need something to watch. Besides, it’s better for you too, isn’t it?”

He sat down and placed the datapad on the floor with its kickstand out. Displayed was a playlist of documentaries on various subjects, but mostly on Cybertron or technology. “You like this stuff, right?” It wasn’t disagreeable, and it wasn’t as if Megatron had a choice in the matter.

“Can you see it?” Optimust adjusted the datapad, scrutinizing its placement and managing to get it in the center of Megatron’s vision. He lowered himself on his side, with his head propped up on a bent arm. “I’d get uncomfortable bending my neck if I sat up. Don’t let me fall asleep.”

The first documentary was about Cybertronian geography and opened with scenic shots of the planet.

“I probably shouldn’t joke about it. I’ve seen this one before, but it was produced in my lifetime so you probably haven’t.”

It was fluffy and surface-level. Megatron had been taught more in school and it failed to draw him in. He hated it, actually. He hated everything. In his spark he truly wished for Optimus to kill him—Kill me. Just kill me. This is a farce. It’s a story without an end. It’s hell. Kill me. If you’re good you’ll kill me.

Optimus was not good. He was nice instead, and spoke throughout the documentary, supplementing his own knowledge or filling in silence. Not two seconds passed without him speaking, and it was hard to tell whether he did it for his own sake or because he thought it would help. Somehow, it would have been worse if he talked for Megatron, because he shouldn’t—he didn’t need to help, and he didn’t need to keep this up, or be soft, or understand. He could end it now but he wouldn’t, and he would never do anything difficult, because he wanted to be nice instead and believe things could be better. He was too young to know any better.

Megatron hated him.

The next documentary was about recent advancements in engineering. Megatron tried to ignore it but couldn’t help himself. It was a dry, technical presentation and used some terms that he had forgotten, forcing him to stretch his memory. Optimus, who knew precious little of the subject, had more questions than comments.

“You designed Soundwave, didn’t you? That’s what Professor Sumdac said. Are you actually an engineer?”

Not really. It was a hobby. He was millions of years old; that much of a hobby would at some point become indistinguishable from professional work. Soundwave was a quick and desperate thing, not even representative of his true skill. He wished he could do it again now—a new body wouldn’t help him now, but he wanted to do things again.

That was the core of it, he knew. People rarely wanted to die, but they always wanted to live. Optimus was trying to help him do that, or at least distract him from the fact that he couldn’t. Nothing was for certain until Ratchet gave the verdict, and there was a long wait before then, so he indulged Optimus’s one-sided conversations.

He stopped despairing and started doing something closer to grieving—thinking of progress lost and the days ahead with grim resignation, but still, a desire to move forward.

* * *

As the night went on, Optimus found it harder to stay awake and offer comments. His voice would slur and his head would droop. He’d snap back each time and eventually sat up, taking away his own comfort—he was committed to being there until Ratchet arrived.

Very early in the morning, Megatron’s optics shut down and his fans stopped. Optimus didn’t react for a second, his tired mind trying to catch up, then he scrambled forward and lowered his head to Megatron’s chest. He heard the muffled sparkbeat within and sighed.

“Just in stasis,” he muttered. There must have been an automatic timer.

He got up and went downstairs for fuel. The lights were still on, and the sky was brightening so he turned them off. It was going to be a long day and it had just begun. He settled into a chair and waited.

Ratchet arrived when he said he would, inviting himself into the place without knocking. Optimus was too tired to startle at the sound of entry and stood.

“He’s upstairs,” he said, leading the way. “He went into stasis, which is probably a good thing.”

“Maybe.” Ratchet moved past him into the berthroom. He went straight for the head and conducted an examination of Megatron’s code. Optimus stood there the entire time, having nowhere to be and nothing to do. After an indeterminate period, Ratchet stood and motioned for Optimus to follow him into the hall, his face drawn tight.

“At first I thought he did it to himself,” he said.

“Impossible! He hates it.”

“I said at first. He knows you’re going to send him back to Trypticon, and I thought he might hate that even more than the code. Maybe he’s trying to buy time for something to happen, you know, typical con trickery. Then I got in there and saw he isn’t just in stasis, he’s shut down.” Ratchet frowned. “No bot’s stupid enough to delete their own booter, but that happened, somehow.”

“He doesn’t have a booter? He can’t wake up?”

“No, I fixed it. That was the easiest fix in there. I don’t know how he managed it but his system experienced some kind of widespread corruption. It must have triggered an automatic restore point, and he must have forgot to make one ‘cause it reset him too far back. Some of his corrupted files didn’t get restored, like the booter, but he’s more or less fine now.”

“But he wouldn’t listen…”

“I think you’re still set as his master,” Ratchet said. “The problem was the corrupted files.”

“Do you know what caused it?” Optimus asked.

“My credits would be on the updates. He did something that was incompatible with his new OS and fragged it up good.”

Optimus frowned, thinking. “So the best next step now would be to get rid of the update.”

“We’d need another, non-updated con for that, and the only ones ‘round these parts are blowing up energon farms.”

“There are cons on Earth and as far as I know, they’re not busy.”

“And you’ll need a medic to extract their code.”

“Wonder where I can find one of those at this hour?”

Ratchet sighed and shook his head. “Kid, you’re killing me…”

“We don’t need to go today. I have somewhere to be anyway, and I have to tell the council. How about we go tomorrow and you stay here for the time being?”

“Fine.” Ratchet stepped into one of the other guestrooms. “If I’d have known it wasn’t serious I wouldn’t have come out so quick at all. Megatron ain’t worth the rush.”

“Then why did you come out so quickly?”

Ratchet sat on the berth and started getting comfortable. “You sounded so worried. I felt bad for ya.”

“Oh…”

“You should get some rest too.”

Optimus turned into the hall, closing the door behind him. He reached to shut the other room as well, but stopped, thinking it might be better if it was left open.

He had been worried—at first it looked like Megatron had just dropped dead, and that was both terrifying and confusing. All he’d thought at that moment was that he’d missed something crucial, he’d messed up, he’d killed a bot under his care. For a second, that bot wasn’t Megatron. He was any and everyone else, and every bot who relied on him to be attentive and competent.

What if it was serious and Megatron did require immediate medical care? What was Optimus going to do if he wasn’t here when it happened?

You’re worrying too much now, he thought, and the voice sounded a lot like Ratchet. Get in your berth and try to rest, or else you won’t get a word the councilors say to you.

He followed his own advice begrudgingly, and fell into stasis a lot sooner than he thought he would. He was so tired he didn’t dream.

* * *

It was raining when they flew over Detroit, making the early morning darker than usual. The metro was already busy, but the suburbs on the edge of the city were quiet and many lots were empty. They landed in a discreet corner of a vacant park, invisible to both humans and bots as the ship and its occupants were all cloaked.

Optimus exited the ship and went to the parking lot, carrying a small beacon in his hands. He set it on the wet tarmac and turned it on. His audials hummed in response to the signal, which mimicked that of a Decepticon and would hopefully reach someone who was lonely. Crouching behind some bushes a few yards away, Optimus prepared for a long wait.

How long should he wait before giving up and trying another method? He had no idea.

An hour passed. He was getting frustrated, and it didn’t help that he was tired from his erratic sleep schedule as of late. Still he stopped himself from getting up, certain that in the next few minutes he’d hear an engine.

Eventually it happened. The sound of a harrier jet was very familiar, as was the silhouette flying in from the metro. Optimus commed Ratchet to tell him this was the moment.

He couldn’t perceive the colors yet. If it was Starscream, he wouldn’t reveal himself and would try to find someone else. He tensed, ready for anything to happen.

It wasn’t Starscream, but his fembot clone. He didn’t know her designation or if she had one. She transformed and landed on her feet, looking around. It took her a second to realize the signal was coming from the little black box on the ground, and she walked over to it with a puzzled, skeptical look. She may have had Starscream’s memories and a part of his personality, but she didn’t seem to know a trap when she was in one.

Optimus stepped into the open. The clone lifted her rockets and his hands shot up. “Wait! I’m not here to fight.”

She raised one optic and snarled. “Then what are you here for?”

“I need your help.”

She scoffed.

“Let me rephrase that. Megatron needs your help.”

“Lord Megatron requires my assistance? How did that happen?”

“You got time? It’s a long story.”

The fembot lowered her weapons. “I’ve got nothing but time, Autobot.”

Optimus rehashed the story, leaving out certain details since she was a Decepticon. “You don’t have updates,” he said, “so we need to copy your code and upload it into Megatron.”

The fembot folded her arms, mouth quirked. “Oh really? I should just trust some random Autobot to go poking around in my head? How do I know you won’t turn me into a slave? How do I know you’re even telling the truth about this?”

He had come prepared for a skeptic. He took out a datapad and turned the screen to the clone. It showed a picture of Megatron with his optics open and a container of fuel in one hand. “This was taken last night. If it wasn’t for Ratchet he wouldn’t have been able to wake up at all, because he crashed so hard his booter got deleted.”

The clone frowned, scrutinizing the datapad from a distance. She didn’t budge.

“I’ll be sure to tell him it was you,” Optimus said. “That would put you in his favor.”

“It would…” She stroked her chin thoughtfully. “Hey, you said you were Magnus, right? That’s like the leader of Cybertron? Isn’t it awfully risky of you to be talking to me right now?”

Optimus rolled his optics, catching her meaning. “Yes, I’m risking a lot by being here. That’s all the more reason you should trust me. Why would I do this unless I had to?”

“Hmm…” Her scrutiny lifted from the datapad to his face. “You...I remember now. You were flying! In the air!”

“Yeah, I have a jetpack.”

She shook her head, chuckling. “A flying Autobot. What will they think of next?”

“So you’ll help us?”

“Yes,” she said, sauntering over with a hand on a hip. “I’m confident I can get away from you anyway.”

Optimus frowned. “Okay then.” He collected the signal box and turned it off. “The ship’s this way.” He kept pace with her, not wanting her behind him because he didn’t trust her intentions for a second. Still, it was the easiest way to get what he wanted, and he was less stressed now that the confrontation was over. One way or another, he would be going home soon.

* * *

Ratchet stuck the datastick into the laptop. An installer popped up and began rearranging Megatron’s code, an automatic process that could still go wrong and required supervision. Wires trailed from the little computer into his head, and his optics reflexively widened as the foreign program began interacting with his processor.

“Everything’s going smoothly so far,” Ratchet said.

“That’s a relief,” Optimus replied.

Megatron’s optics flickered, went out for a concerning moment, and came back bright orange.

“Well, look at that,” Ratchet said. “It works out in the end this time.”

Megatron bit his lip to stop himself from grinning. He could try to be stoic if he wanted.

“You’ll never guess who helped us,” Optimus said. “The fembot Starscream. You technically have his code in you now.”

Megatron grimaced. “Can I die?”

Optimus choked back a laugh. “No.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was going to post this Monday, then forgot...then kept forgetting. instead, i think i'll make a reminder for myself to post the last chapter this Monday. we're almost done, either way!

“If our new Magnus is just going to run off with so little notice, how do we know he’ll take care of the real issues? How do we know he won’t run from the Decepticons?”

Optimus turned off the television, applying Alpha Trion’s advice about news. At this point listening to anything anyone said about him was emotional self-harm, and only served to worsen his guilt. He’d never been one who compulsively wanted to explain himself, but bots were anxious out there, and he couldn’t set them at ease. If he tried he would just make it worse.

“I blame you,” he said to the figure standing in the corner.

Megatron raised an optic.

Optimus sighed and sagged into his seat. “Not really, but I do wonder if I did the right thing. If the people don’t trust me this soon in my career…”

Static came from Megatron’s voice box. It took a few seconds for him to wrest control, and then he spoke. “In my experience, there is no good way to start a political career.”

It had been a full day since his recovery and Ratchet’s prediction had been correct; at this rate he’d be finished with his repairs by the end of the week. His optics had been orange last night but today were noticeably red, beginning to edge into their natural crimson.

“There are better and worse ways, I think.”

“...Even the best tend to start on uneven ground, whether due to their own folly, or having the long-term effects of their predecessor’s follies attributed to them.”

He knew that, having studied history. It was another thing to hear it from someone else, especially someone who was supposed to hate him. “Yeah. They’ll forget about it once this is all over.”

Megatron tensed, drawing himself as far back as he could and scowling. “May I speak with my Decepticons?” he asked.

It was going to happen sooner or later. “Sure. If Perceptor’s free it won’t even take long to set up.”

“I’ve waited long enough, I think. They need to see their leader and I can finally speak for myself again.”

Optimus nodded.

“Who was there with me? I barely remember. Blitzwing, Lugnut, two Starscreams, and Shockwave?”

It was hard not to let his expression betray his feelings. Megatron didn’t know Shockwave was dead—and Optimus didn’t want to break the news. “Hey, just out of curiosity...this is a stupid question, I know you’ll think it’s stupid at least, but, uh, are you friends with any of them? Or are you just…?”

Megatron looked at him with minor amusement. “Shockwave is tolerable. Blitzwing, as well, when he isn’t too out of control.”

“I guess that counts as an answer. I’ll call Perceptor now.” It wasn’t going to be a good afternoon, he thought, but it would have to happen.

* * *

Lucky for them, Perceptor had time to help establish the connection. There were cameras and mics already in each con’s room, all brought together and communicating with the computer in Optimus’s office. Right now, there was a black square that showed nothing, as the call hadn’t actually started.

Megatron knelt in front of the desk, the chair too small for him, while Optimus leaned around his shoulder to click things. A second later, the squares lit up.

The two cons he wanted to speak with had been gathered into one room and were leaning close to the camera, waiting for this exact moment. Lugnut let out some kind of exultation, but even his thundering timbre was drowned under Blitzwing’s random face’s exuberant cry.

“It’s really you,” Blitzwing said, returning to calm blue. “Honestly, I worried this might have been some elaborate hoax…”

“Lord Megatron would never bow to the Autobot’s will,” Lugnut growled. “You are free, aren’t you, master?”

“Not quite,” Megatron said.

“But you are controlling the Autobot.”

“He’s helping me of his own accord.” He glanced at Optimus, who stepped away from the desk and out of the computer’s sight, giving them whatever privacy he could.

When they continued to look nervous, however, Optimus leaned back into their view. “Didn’t you read the status updates I sent you?”

“I deleted them,” Lugnut said. “They could have been nothing but lies.”

Blitzwing shrugged. “I am not apt to trust. But, never mind that. My liege, it is very good to see you so close to recovery. When you left, you were…”

“I know what I was like,” Megatron muttered. “When I’m over this, I’ll send you my logs. You should be able to fix yourselves with that.”

“It’ll be nice not to be indentured…”

“The puny Autobot scientist doesn’t make us do anything,” Lugnut said, “but I agree. Knowing he could is humiliating enough.”

_ At least you could feed yourselves _ , Megatron thought. “Do you do anything? Is it boring?”

“We have datapads,” Blitzwing said. “Not connected to anything, of course, but there are games and such.”

“Where are you now, master?” Lugnut asked.

“Optimus Magnus’s personal office, in the Magnus suite near the top of the Metroplex.”

“We tried to make him give you to us.”

Megatron suppressed a shudder. Optimus really was looking out for him the whole time, wasn’t he? “I believe I prefer it here, Lugnut.”

“Of course,” Blitzwing said. “There’s more room, windows…”

“Yes. Iacon—it doesn’t look different, somehow.” Maybe it had just been so long that he couldn’t remember it properly. “Where is Shockwave? Is he resting? Does his condition still fatigue him?”

The cons shifted and glanced at each other. Megatron frowned.

“What happened to Shockwave?”

“He’s...dead, sir,” Blitzwing said, averting his gaze.

Megatron opened his mouth but couldn’t think of anything to say to them. He turned to Optimus and found his words. “You didn’t tell me about this.”

Optimus backed away and raised his hands. “I thought you’d want to hear it from someone...closer to you.”

Megatron lowered his gaze to the desk. He tightened his fists on his lap, out of sight, his face carefully blank as he tried to wrap his mind around his emotions. After some time, he lifted his optics to his Decepticons. “Who killed him?”

Lugnut and Blitzwing looked at each other. A wing twitched and a pincer clicked. They had a way of talking without words, and if Megatron had to guess, were currently arguing about who was going to deal with this. Blitzwing lost, evident in how he hung his head and sighed.

“He had that processor condition, you know,” he said. “He...he was…”

“The code implantation damaged his processor, but he was stable,” Megatron said. “I want the whole story. There must be more.”

“His processor was corrupted...and…”

“Blitzwing,” Lugnut rumbled. “Our master demands the truth from you. Tell him.”

Blitzwing switched faces. “Why not you, huh? Why does it have to be me?”

“You’re more straightforward,” Megatron said.

Blitzwing bowed his head and drew his wings so tight against his sides that they trembled. He switched to his random face, hugged his upper arms and started rocking back and forth.

Did they make Blitzwing do something? How could Megatron make him speak?

_ How would Optimus do it? _ he wondered. “I’m not angry at you, Blitzwing,” he said, picking his words slowly. “This is a difficult situation for all of us and we can’t be blamed for whatever we were made to do. I just want to know, that’s all.”

Blitzwing looked up at him, switching his face to icy once he accepted that Megatron was being sincere. “It was you,” he said.

Megatron drew back. Optimus looked at him. He couldn’t discern the expression because he was staring at Blitzwing. That couldn’t be right. He wouldn’t—

“Do you remember why they gave you that extra code? You always tried to disobey, and you always succeeded if they ordered you to harm one of us. So...to test the new code, they ordered you to kill one of us. They chose Shockwave, because his processor damage made him useless to their bottom line.” Blitzwing’s shoulders hunched up. “But Shockwave was the only one. The rest of us are all right.”

Lugnut nodded to corroborate.

Megatron was barely paying attention to them. He was tearing through his memories, searching for any recollection of what he was told. If it was true, then he must have been completely unconscious when they gave him the order, because he didn’t think he ever resisted such a thing. They used his body to kill his most loyal subject and he wasn’t even aware of it.

He knew they could do that to him, but somehow—he thought he would be stronger than that. It didn’t occur to him that he would obey  _ everything _ . There had to be a limit where he would stop, or so he assumed, but there wasn’t and Shockwave was proof.

Blitzwing was almost vibrating with nervous energy.

“I see,” Megatron said. “It was the Magnus who gave this order?”

“Yes. Sentinel Magnus.”

“Where is Sentinel?” Megatron turned to Optimus.

“Uh...I don’t know.” Optimus gave a mournful look. “I’m sorry about what happened.”

The conversation fell silent. Megatron tapped his digits against the desk, and Blitzwing and Lugnut studied him through the screen. Optimus glanced between both groups and, after a good long moment of visibly summoning his courage, leaned into Megatron’s direct line of sight. He tensed with pent-up rage, abrupt and nearly uncontrollable, and glanced away.

“Do you guys still want to talk?”

“I believe we’ve given him plenty to think about,” Blitzwing said.

“We should take a break,” Lugnut added.

“Megatron?” No response. “Yeah, I’ll call back later.”

_ Don’t talk to me _ , Megatron wanted to say, but he didn’t. He wanted to hear something, but not the words he thought likely to come from an Autobot—empty stock phrases about grief and hardship and support. He didn’t know what he wanted Optimus to do.

“Are you in there? Do you want me to leave?”

It wasn’t what he expected to hear and it made him angrier, if such a feat were possible. “This is your fault,” he snarled, snapping his head around to glare at Optimus.

He drew back. “I know this is difficult and you’re angry,” he said, optics narrowing, “but I won’t take responsibility for something I didn’t even know about.” His tone was even, calm, and reasonable.

“If you hadn’t taken me to that wretched place, none of this would have happened. If I had killed you, I would be fine and Shockwave would be alive.”

“I think you should calm down,” Optimus said.

Like that, the binding snapped. Megatron rose on unsteady legs and lifted an arm. Optimus, mouth agape and optics wide, backed up a step while raising his own hand in a placating manner. Megatron snatched up his small wrist and applied pressure.

“Agh! Stop!” Optimus yanked and became frantic. “Stop it! Sit down! Let go! Go away!”

One of those worked and the veil descended on him again. He released Optimus and stepped involuntarily towards the door, struggling against the code that was once more stronger than himself. His energy was spent, and he was at his master’s mercy once more.

“Go to your quarters,” Optimus said, and followed him there at a distance.

Megatron didn’t speak. He opened the door, stepped in, and listened to Optimus lock him inside. There was nothing for him to do now but think.

Autobots would die for this. He was so close to being free. He would crush heads, smother sparks, rip in half that big-chin Magnus that did this to him—and nobody would stop him. Nobody could stop him. Optimus would die trying.

He pulled away from the violent fantasy and focused on a new thought. Optimus acted so very moral, but look what his actions wrought. If not for him, it would be fine. Everything would be fine. He was small and weak, so why did Megatron lose? What happened to him? Why couldn’t he best a tiny troupe of Autobots? Why couldn’t he fight their words to save his own followers?

Optimus wanted to help. That’s what he said. Megatron believed him, and forgot who put him in this situation in the first place. He’d be lucky if he wasn’t shoved right back in that little cell with his progress reset.

As much as he hated to admit it—as much he hated to admit that the thought frightened him—if Optimus decided to do that, nobody else would ever help him again. He would be stuck, and if someone did someday free him, it would be so far in the future that he was certain he would go mad before then. Yet he didn’t think that would happen.

Yes, Optimus was good, and did want to help, in a naive, faltering, and innocent way. He wasn’t innocent, but his intentions were, and even his end goal of replacing the Decepticons in prison felt like the simplistic and pure idea of a protoform trying to rationalize the world. Just put the bad guys in prison, and the day is saved.

Once Megatron saw what was truly bothering him and what made him lash out, he felt exasperated with himself. He blamed the background programs running in the back of his processor. They made thought and emotional regulation difficult. That was what he told himself, anyway.

He mulled it over. Some time later, once he’d calmed down, he heard Optimus return.

“Do you want fuel?”

“Yes.”

“I’m going to leave it in front of the door. Can you get it yourself?”

Megatron lifted one knee and bent it, then the other. “Yes.” The lock clicked. As he turned around, he heard Optimus run down the hallway to hide in either his study or berthroom. There was a container of kerosene on the floor. He picked it up, looked out for a second to see if Optimus would reappear, then shut himself in.

It wasn’t a surprise that he would still be fed, but it was a relief. He didn’t savor it and set the empty container back in the hall.

“Are you going into stasis soon?” Optimus called from his berthroom. “Can you do that too?”

“I think I can, but not yet. In a few hours.”

“Okay.” A pause. “I really am sorry to hear about Shockwave, but it’s not fair to blame me. I did what I had to do, and I had no hand in anything that came after. If I’d known, he wouldn’t have—”

“I know.”

“I wouldn’t have let it happen…”

“You would have helped us.”

Optimus cracked open his door and peeked out.

“You’re nothing like the previous Magnus,” Megatron said.

“Sentinel.”

“I won’t remember.” He frowned. “That bot would have done terrible things if I acted in such a way towards him. He did terrible things for less.”

“Sentinel will answer for what he did when we find him. I really don’t know where he is, by the way.”

“I assumed he would disappear.” Megatron frowned and glanced down. “Did I damage your wrist?”

Optimus touched it. “Kinda. A little dent. I hammered it out so it’s fine now.”

“Ah.”

“I mean, it’s not fine that you attacked me, but my hand is fine.”

“Of course.”

“I guess I expected something like this because I’m not angry about it. I really thought you’d broken free.”

“I did as well.”

“Is that how you’re going to be when you’re back to normal?”

Megatron looked at him. Optimus’s expression was anxious but firm. “No. I was angry and lost control. What could I feasibly do, Magnus? If I attack you, it would be easy for you to overwhelm me in my weakened state. If I do kill you, the mobs outside will destroy me. I could attempt an escape, but I can’t fly. I can’t run to Kaon and break everyone else out.”

“Wait, what? You can’t fly?”

“My transformation code was removed. Even if I had my vehicle mode, my swords are gone, probably smelted. I need them for flight. My boots are broken as well.”

“Oh.” Optimus blinked. “I didn’t realize you were a monoformer this whole time...what’s the point of that if you were supposed to be an Autobot soldier again?”

“I assume it would have been returned once I was...tamed.”

“That makes sense.”

“Even if I could fly, I couldn’t do it for long, nor can I run for any distance. The constant battle against my own body has fatigued my mind too. When I am free of this code, I am still your prisoner. I have few other options.” An edge of resentment crept into his voice. Megatron knew better than to expect anything else, but he still thought of it. He was irritated enough that he almost voiced his idea, but he held back.

“So you’re just going to willingly go back to prison? Like that?”

Megatron tilted his head. “I am more interested in what you’ll do.”

Optimus scowled. “What does that mean?”

“Possibly nothing.”

“...Forget it. Let’s just forget everything right now. I’m going to go read. What do you want to do?”

“I think I’m just going to sit in my room, Magnus.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll lock the door behind me,” Megatron said. His pride was hurt, but he needed to display some level of self-awareness. He did what he said and, once alone, let his shoulders and head droop. His entire shell, shabby as it was, felt heavy and constrictive.

The berth drew him in like a magnet. He was too uncomfortable for stasis, so he stared at the ceiling and thought more. Maybe he was desperate, or maybe he was already mad, but he kept coming back to the same foolish, impossible, hopeful idea.

_ If anyone can unite the Autobots and Decepticons, it’s you, Optimus Magnus. _

* * *

The following week provided plenty of distractions from the incident with Megatron and his mysterious behavior afterwards. Representatives from three separate city-states arrived to discuss the recent Decepticon activity, which meant they demanded he do “something” about it. Besides send more Autobots to get crunched into scrap, he didn’t know what to do, but he didn’t tell anyone that. Alpha Trion figured it out anyway and reminded him that the public was relying on his guidance.

He always had more to read or think over, of course, so his home often also felt like work. Megatron could take care of himself more, which would have been a blessing if it wasn’t so terrifying. The doors stayed locked, and Optimus stayed vigilant. He thought Megatron was being truthful about his lack of options and willingness to stay put, but there was something off about the way he was acting and it was hard to tell if it was concerning or not.

One day, he came home with his head buzzing. He’d worked for six solar cycles and knew he had to take a break before he destroyed himself. The last thing he wanted was for something to happen with Megatron.

According to his energy signature, he was in the dispensary. He had the run of the house during the day, with orders not to leave—a suggestion from Megatron himself, who seemed peculiarly interested in Optimus having peace of processor.

_ He’s planning something _ , Optimus thought.  _ He can’t think I’m that stupid _ … His hands twitched. If it was going to happen, at any time, he was ready.

Megatron walked out of the dispensary with a barrel of oil, stopped at the doorway, and quirked his mouth into a half-smile.

“What’s going on?” Optimus asked.

“Tell me to do something,” Megatron said.

“Uh…” Optimus scratched at a finial. “Put down the oil.”

Megatron stayed still.

“Sit down? Go in the other room?” His optics widened. “Oh…”

“We need to talk,” Megatron said.

Optimus’s shoulders sagged. “Really? You want to talk now?”

“I am too weak to fight you.” Megatron inclined his head and frowned. “I’m asking you for one last thing before you do what you think you have to do.”

“Can it wait a few minutes? I’m tired and need fuel…”

“Do what you must to put yourself in an agreeable state of mind. I have a lot to say, and you’ll have a lot to say back, I’m sure.”

Megatron moved back several paces to let Optimus through the door, but didn’t follow him. He grabbed some oil and stood in the corner, optics trained on the doorway while he sipped. Now that he was alone, he could consider the enormity of the situation.

He wasn’t ready. He didn’t want to leave this room, or see Megatron again, or talk about anything. The entire time, Optimus assumed there would be a struggle once Megatron became free. If there’d been a fight he would have known what to do and how to react; this was unexpected, strange, and he had no frame of reference for it.

His oil was gone too soon. His processor felt more clear, but his emotions still roiled in his spark. Excitement—fear—he didn’t know which was stronger. If he couldn’t get prepared, then there was nothing else to do but march out there and face whatever Megatron had for him.

In the living room, Megatron had taken a seat near the window and set his oil on the armrest. His hands were clasped lightly on his thigh and his expression was neutral. Tensing with anticipation and suspicion, Optimus dropped into a chair on the clear opposite side of the room and sat rigidly.

“Say your piece,” Optimus said.

“I don’t want to go back to Trypticon,” Megatron said.

Optimus leaned back, frowning a little. “If that’s literally it, you should know what I’m going to say.”

Megatron’s optics narrowed and his shoulders hunched. “I’m being nice.”

“I can see that. It doesn’t change anything.”

“If you intend to send me back to Trypticon, you should have just killed me.”

Optimus rolled his optics. “Oh, come on…”

“There is precious little difference between a prisoner and a slave.”

“That’s nonsense. Sentinel enslaved you so he could use you like a waepon to fight our wars for us. I put you in prison so you couldn’t hurt people! Prisons aren’t for keeping slaves, it’s for making sure dangerous criminals like you don’t get to kill again!”

“From your perspective, perhaps, but—”

“You forfeited your right to a perspective when you started the biggest war our people have ever seen.” His spark burned with rage. “I’m supposed to just let you go and what? Hope you don’t do anything? You started the war, you killed who even knows how many bots, you tried to kill me, tried to kill my family—Prowl died because of you!”

Brief confusion passed Megatron’s face.

“You don’t even know him.” Optimus’s voice cracked. “You don’t care.”

Megatron looked away.

“I’m supposed to be okay with you running around free? Did you think I’d take pity on you?”

“No, but I thought perhaps you would be willing to listen to my...idea.”

“I’m not.”

“You haven’t heard it yet.”

That gave Optimus pause. He was still enraged, but gave Megatron a quiet, narrow look, which was matched by a mild, firm gaze.

“I propose a truce,” Megatron said.

“Why didn’t you lead with that?!” Optimus’s tone became sharp with disbelief and shock.

“Ah. Perhaps I should have.”

“And I’m supposed to just believe that?” he asked, calming down but still tense where he sat. “Why do you suddenly want peace?”

Megatron broke optic contact and gazed out of the window. He lifted a digit and tapped the rim of his drink, grasping it like a lifeline. “I haven’t seen Cybertron in millions of years,” he said at last.

Sensing there was more, Optimus didn’t respond.

“I like seeing Iacon, either from here or my berthroom window…I was built in Kaon, but I know this city well. Knew. It’s changed so much. This structure, the Metroplex, has always been here, but this skyline isn’t the one I remember when I last looked out this window. Yes, I’ve been inside this suite before. I was an important figure, and got all sorts of invitations, including to PC Magnus’s private house parties. It’s so distant to me now, but at least I can remember a time when our groups were at peace.

“When I first arrived here under your care, I woke on edge and ready. My entire life I’ve always been prepared to fight, every day, be it against other species or Autobots. The code was painful, humiliating, and I did wish for death...but over time, I began to feel a sort of relief. I knew nothing was going to happen. I was going to be left alone. I wasn’t going to fight. I didn’t even think of fighting, or securing fuel for my Decepticons, or anything beyond the present moment.

“I realized I wanted that to stay the same. I wanted my freedom  _ and _ this peace, and the only way to do that is to bring an end to our conflict. You’re the only one in the universe who might be able to do it, Optimus Magnus. I don’t know if you can, but you’re my final chance.”

Seconds passed and Optimus realized it was his turn to speak. He had no words. His processor teetered between choices, occasionally leaning towards one but never far enough that he could reach out and grab anything.

His anger had faded, leaving a sore, burning feeling in the center of his spark. He couldn’t conjure any further resentment towards Megatron or the past; he had to deal with what was in front of him. “I...you’re saying...you really think I can do something like that? What makes you feel that way?”

“It was really...that night.” Megatron shifted uncomfortably. “You didn’t have to stay with me and try to distract me, but you did, because it bothered you to leave me.”

“That was just me—being nice.”

“Nobody else would have done it. You didn’t let who I was get in the way of what you felt you had to do. That is why, if anyone is going to unite Cybertron’s disparate peoples, it’ll be you.” His tone was earnest, even encouraging. For a moment Optimus trusted that he really believed himself.

Doubt began to creep in. Megatron was charismatic, and he was a skilled manipulator. How did Optimus know this wasn’t part of a trick? He didn’t and he couldn’t, unless he made a decision.

“I...I don’t know,” he said.

“Really?” Megatron scowled. “Are you not the one who wanted peace and order? Is it really more practical—more useful—to lock me away when I could help make that happen?”

“Of course I want peace, and I think people should be allowed to change. But it’s not just me, Megatron. You’re asking all of Cybertron to accept your truce, and as Cybertron’s representative, I have to say I don’t know.”

“I know something. My Decepticons are loyal to me to their deaths, and those that aren’t loyal are dealt with swiftly. If you have my support, you have them. Who would oppose you? Who would dare to contradict whatever you decreed?”

Optimus sat up straighter and lifted his head in defiance. “I’m not going to force my people to accept something they don’t want. That’ll just cause more rebellion and suffering.”

Megatron nodded. “I should have known you would answer that way.”

“I’m young and inexperienced. The people trust me because they saw me capture you, but that could change if I accepted your offer. They trust...they trust who they think they see, not me.” Optimus felt something inside himself deflate. “I don’t know if I can live up to that. I don’t know if you’re right about me.”

Megatron tilted his head and seemed to consider that. “You’re the best Magnus I’ve ever seen, and I’m very old, you know. I’ve seen a number of leaders. Your previous two leaders were disasters.”

Optimus scoffed. “Sentinel sure, but Ultra?”

“You don’t know,” Megatron said vaguely. “You truly don’t know.”

“I’m still young, though. What if that changes?”

“Then it changes. I did say even I wasn’t sure of you. I’m willing to trust that you’ll continue to impress me—I’ve trusted you this far. I had to. All you have to do is spare some trust in return.”

“Megatron…” Optimus clasped his arm in a self-soothing gesture. “Okay. I’ll grant that you’re being as honest as you can be. Are you really in your right mind at the moment? You just broke free of slave code—but we don’t know what kind of lingering effects there could be, or how it’s impacted you psychologically…”

“You think my processor is broken.”

“I’m just saying this was a lot for both of us to go through, and it’s natural if you’re—well…” Was he really analyzing Megatron? “You experienced something deeply traumatic and it’s something we don’t even have a frame of reference for. You were forced into close quarters with me. Of course you...uh...latched on…”

He trailed off because Megatron was giving him some kind of unidentifiable look. “You think I have Stockholm syndrome. You think you gave me Stockholm syndrome.”

“I—well—yes. I’m worried this isn’t really you speaking.”

“Optimus, that’s not how that works.”

“Really?”

“I’m in my right mind, I have thought this over, and I’m proposing a serious truce to you right now. I’m prepared to deal with whatever comes with that.”

“All the Decepticons would come back to Cybertron.” Optimus’s gaze drifted as he imagined it. “I’d have to reintegrate them, get everyone to accept it…”

“You’re thinking of everything at once, instead of thinking of the first step,” Megatron said. “It would be a process, a long and arduous one. But it would end in a unified Cybertron.”

“All the Autobots and Decepticons together.”

“You wouldn’t do it alone.”

Optimus looked out of the window. At a glance he was looking at thousands of bots who had no idea what he was doing, or what it could mean for them. It was up to him to make this choice, and he was committed to do the best he could for Cybertron. “I need to think. Can I trust you to be cool for one night?”

“Yes. I’ll be...cool.”

“I’m not stupid or vulnerable. If you try anything—”

“I understand.”

“I’m locking your door and mine.”

“Fine.”

Unexpectedly, the room was quiet again. There wasn’t even much tension in the air. Did Megatron really accept all of that? Did Optimus really accept all of that? Nothing could be certain right now. He wouldn’t know until the morning, and it was a long way off.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And it's a long way forward  
So trust in me  
I'll give them shelter like you've done for me  
And I know I'm not alone  
You'll be watching over us  
Until you're gone
> 
> -"Shelter" by Madeon & Porter Robinson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the violence tag becomes relevant here!

Optimus woke to a comms message. It was from Alpha Trion, and he was too sleepy to feel dread, so he answered it with a thick, annoyed, “What is it?”

“There is a potential public relations disaster looming on your horizon and if you do not deal with it immediately, I will not be able to help you.”

Optimus sat up. “Alpha Trion, please. My cooling gel hasn’t even melted yet.”

Trion huffed. “Sentinel Prime returned to Cybertron last night. He began making several...claims. I do not know where or how he obtained this information, but he knows you spoke with a Decepticon.”

“Oh, slag.” His processor chugged further into wakefulness. “What do I need to do?”

“Talk to him. He has been flying around to different news outlets trying to find a bot stupid enough to listen to him. He has so far had no luck.”

“Pin him down and tell him to call me.”

“Very well, Magnus. I will call the remaining news outlets and tell them to keep him distracted until I can establish contact with him.”

“Sounds good. Thanks, Alpha Trion.”

Optimus got out of the berth and woke himself up by walking down the stairs and into the dispensary. His head felt clearer once he got some oil in his tank. He wasn’t even angry—just tired and disappointed. This whole time Optimus had been waiting to see what, exactly, Sentinel would do, because he knew something was coming and this wasn’t out of character.

It was light out and Megatron’s energy signature placed him upstairs. If he was keeping his distance out of respect, it was appreciated, though unnecessary. Optimus went to his room just to check on him, anxious he might be  _ up to something _ , though right now that seemed less likely than Sentinel calming down and acting rationally.

Megatron was huddled on the berth and staring out the window. At the sound of Optimus’s entrance he looked over. His expression was bland. 

“How long have you been up?” Optimus asked. He felt awkward. There was no good way to start conversations with Megatron.

“Since dark,” he answered. “Have you thought about our conversation?”

“Yeah. I have other things on my mind right now though.” Optimus paused. “Sentinel came back to Cybertron and he’s been spreading rumors.”

He didn’t miss the way Megatron tensed and drew away. Possibly Megatron himself didn’t notice his own reaction to the name of the bot that had caused him such pain. “Oh?”

“He must have talked to the fembot Starscream because he knows I’ve been meeting with Decepticons. He’s been trying to get on the news, I guess to slander me. Alpha Trion’s looking for him.”

Megatron nodded.

“I have to speak with him.”

“Would you rather I stay in this room when you leave?”

“I mean, it doesn’t really matter, but it’d be safer if you did. Somebody might walk in looking for me.”

That didn’t seem to be quite the answer Megatron was expecting, judging by the look in his optics, but he said nothing more on the subject. “Sentinel can’t do much to you. The Cybertronian people like you more than they like him, correct?”

“According to the polls, yes. I’m just worried he might have actual evidence of something and spread misinformation.” Optimus paused again. “Besides, I just...need to talk to him, about everything.”

Megatron’s expression hardened. “Are you going to punish him?”

Optimus drew back. “I...don’t know.” The words were out of his vocalizer before he remembered to whom he was speaking and under what context. “I mean, he definitely needs to answer for what he’s done, but I don’t know what I’m going to do about it and I don’t know if you’d consider it a  _ punishment _ .”

“Yes. I suppose Autobot methods are softer than those of Decepticons.” Megatron stood. “I’m going to polish my armor.”

“All right. I’ll be around.” His day was going to be full of Sentinel’s nonsense, so he was going to stay home and wait for Trion’s call.

Just because he was waiting for something to happen didn’t mean he had to be idle, though. He went to his study to read and think over some documents. It was difficult to focus and he wasn’t in an appropriate emotional state to make real decisions, but doing nothing felt unbearable to him.

Alpha Trion called. Optimus jolted in his seat. “Yeah?”

“We have found him, but…”

He sighed. “What’d he do?”

“I informed Sentinel that you wished to speak to him, but he ran off and said he would come directly to you.”

“Wait. He’s on his way here? Now?”

“Yes. I estimate if traffic stays at its usual levels, he’ll arrive within the hour.”

Optimus didn’t know what to say for a second. “Uh, thanks for the head’s up. I gotta go and prepare.”

“Prepare?”

“Megatron…” He trailed off.

“Ah. Would you prefer if we tried to stop him?”

“No, it’s fine, this has to happen. Let him come. I’ll let you know how it goes.” With the call over, Optimus sunk back into his seat to absorb what he’d just been told. This was happening a little fast. What was he going to say to Megatron?

The study door opened suddenly. “Optimus, where is the grease—”

He looked up, saw a strange gangling thing standing there, screamed, and threw the nearest object at it. Half a second later he realized the thing was Megatron sans armor, but the light crystal was already flying through the air. It struck him on the side of the head and he fell back, catching himself on the wall.

Optimus jumped up. “I’m so sorry! I thought you were an intruder.”

Megatron glared. “Who breaks into a house naked?”

There was no excuse. “I don’t know where the grease is or if we even have any…”

Megatron tapped at the torn protoform of his head and pouted. “All right then.” He turned and trudged away.

Optimus decided to wait until he was finished to talk to him. Megatron exited the wash rack a few minutes later, wearing his armor. He looked somewhat closer to presentable. When he noticed Optimus standing there, he stopped and frowned.

“What?”

“Sentinel is on his way here,” Optimus said.

“Don’t bring him here.”

“I’m not. He’s coming here of his own volition.”

“Stop him.” Megatron took on a defensive stance and clenched his fists.  _ Stop him or I’ll handle it myself _ .

“I can’t! Listen. He doesn’t know you’re here. I didn’t tell the clone where you were living so he couldn’t know. He won’t be anywhere near you, and I won’t let him do anything. He has no power.”

Megatron huffed. “Do you think I  _ fear _ him? I’m telling you to stop him for  _ your _ sake. You would be very distraught if I killed him.”

“Y...yes I would. Don’t do that.” Optimus turned to the stairs. “He’ll be here soon. I’m going to go wait for him. Just relax, okay? I’m going to try to get him on our side.”

“You can’t,” Megatron sneered. “Nobody could. ...Our side?”

“He’s a difficult person, but he’d be an asset. You have to admit it’d be better if he was working with us rather than against us. Either way I still have to talk to him, and he’s still coming here.”

Megatron tensed. “Fine.” He disappeared into his berthroom and engaged the lock.

Optimus went downstairs, resigning himself to whatever came next. If he couldn’t stop it, he could at least control it. There was little he thought he could do to contain Sentinel, but he would have to try for everyone’s sake, including Sentinel himself.

It wasn’t long before security called to let him know Sentinel had arrived at the Metroplex. He allowed it, of course, and went out into the reception area to wait for the elevator.

The descent and return didn’t take long. A million expectations and feelings surged through Optimus’s processor as he watched the cabin slide into place and the doors open. He didn’t know what he expected, but the sight of Sentinel’s tired, angry expression still sent a shock through his shell.

“Sentinel…”

He sneered. “Magnus.”

“You want to come in?” Optimus turned and gestured to the door.

“Of course.” Sentinel followed him inside.

“Do you want something to drink?”

“No.”

“...Okay.” Optimus paused in the living room. They stared at each other. “I’m glad you came back to Cybertron. I was concerned…”

“I’m concerned too,” Sentinel snapped. “We need to talk about what you’ve been doing.”

“What  _ I’ve _ been doing?”

“Yes! You’re trying to fix the Decepticons!  _ What are you thinking _ ?”

“I don’t know. What were you thinking when you did that to them?”

“That they’d be useful! And less dangerous to us!” Sentinel shook his head fiercely. “I came here because I heard you’re trying to fix  _ Megatron _ . This is totally in-character for you, but it’s also insane, and I have to stop you. Clearly the Cybertronian people made a mistake.”

Optimus ignored the hot surge of anger and focused on other things. “Well, Megatron’s already fixed, Sentinel. He cured himself. His methods have already been shared with the other cons and they’ll fix themselves soon too. There’s no stopping it now.”

Sentinel’s optics narrowed. “I can always just do it again. After I prove to the people that you’re a traitor and become Magnus again!”

“Traitor?”

“I know you’re not, really, but that’s what everyone will think of you when they hear you’re helping Megatron after their previous Magnus did so much to neutralize the threat he posed.”

Optimus closed some of the ground between them. “Sentinel, listen. There’s another way to ‘neutralize’ the Decepticons, and you can help. It’d be better for all of Cybertron.”

“Oh, really?”

That tone was sarcastic, but Optimus persisted. “Slave code is dangerous in concept. It could too easily fall into the wrong hands. Besides that, it’s just morally outrageous. It should have never been invented. I wish I could destroy the very idea of it.”

Sentinel’s expression darkened as Optimus spoke. He never did well with criticism. Optimus continued quickly.

“But there’s another way to stop the Decepticons from fighting us! Megatron and I—”

He realized his mistake too late. Sentinel threw his head back, one optic raised, his stance becoming tense. “You and Megatron what? You’re  _ working _ with him?”

“Not like that...it’s more like we had a discussion and reached an agreement. Something mutually beneficial—Megatron will surrender, help unify Cybertron, and I won’t put him back in Trypticon. Autobots and Decepticons won’t fight because there won’t be a reason for it.”

Elucidating his point didn’t help things. Sentinel’s face twisted in horror. “This is worse than I thought. You really  _ are _ sympathizing with him.”

“No. I mean, I guess, but it’s not like that. I just want the fighting to stop. And—you had to be there but—so does he. I know he’s being honest.”

Sentinel bowed his head and seemed to think for a moment. Optimus didn’t think it could be that easy, but he had no idea what Sentinel was doing. A rush of movement, too fast and close for his reflexes, shoved him to the floor. His processor sputtered for a moment, but he registered the sound of footsteps pounding up the stairs.

“Sentinel!?”

“Proof,” Sentinel snapped back. “I’ll find proof, and I’ll run you into the ground!”

* * *

Megatron listened closely to the raised voices downstairs. It wasn’t going well. He wasn’t surprised when a fight broke out, nor when Sentinel came shouting up to the second floor. A desire not to give into his anger had compelled him to stay in this room, but he now saw his presence was needed.

_ This is why Optimus needs my help, _ he thought as he jabbed the button to open the door.

He stepped into the hall just as Sentinel crested the stairwell. They stared at each other. Sentinel took a step back and raised his lance, but his posture lacked confidence.

“Y-you’re here?” The lance trembled in his grasp. “What…”

Megatron took a step.

Sentinel bolted down the stairs. “Optimus!” he screamed.

“Oh no,” Optimus groaned.

Megatron strode forward. Sentinel pushed past Optimus on the landing and disappeared with his fellow Autobot running after him. Getting down the stairs was always slow and painful—he couldn’t handle a fight in this state. Luckily Sentinel didn’t think rationally and saw  _ Megatron _ , not an injured and nearly defenseless robot.

On the first floor, Sentinel had planted himself in front of the door, standing in a firm fighting stance but ready to flee. Optimus had a hand raised as if to reach out and catch him, but there was too much distance between them for that to be likely.

“Call him down!” Sentinel shouted as Megatron coaxed himself down the last few steps.

“I can’t,” Optimus said. “I can ask him to stop and stay where he is.” This was punctuated with a glance.

“Very well.” Megatron gestured. “I simply didn’t think you were handling the situation on your own.”

“Freaking him out isn’t going to help,” Optimus said.

“He attacked you.”

“Yeah, I did!” Sentinel shrieked. “Which was the right thing to do! You’re crazy, Optimus. You’ve gone off the deep end.”

“If you’d let me explain, you’d know there’s a perfectly logical reason for this,” Optimus said.

“Perfectly logical? A Decepticon? In the Magnus suite?” Sentinel waved his lance around. “No, I’m tired of your explanations. The words of a Decepticon carry no weight for me.”

“Wh—” Optimus shook his head. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“You had this all planned from the start.” Sentinel stabbed the lance towards Megatron. “He lets you arrest him, then you become Magnus, set him free, and take over Cybertron! When did it happen, Optimus? When did you stop being an Autobot? After Archa-Seven?”

Optimus was devastated. All he could do was shake his head slowly, his expression grave and posture slumped. He was no longer reaching for Sentinel, his hands instead hanging limp at his sides. This was the moment when he must have realized—when he was forced to accept—that his former friend was never going to come back to his side or see reason. It must have been painful.

Megatron, personally, was having the time of his life. The situation was so ridiculous and unbelievable that all he wanted to do was watch it unfold before him. He wasn’t even angry anymore. Sentinel had become entertainment.

“I’m going to get Jazz and tell him what’s going on,” Sentinel said. “He’ll listen to reason.”

“He already knows what’s going on,” Optimus replied tiredly.

Sentinel sputtered. “Fine. Then I’ll kill Megatron, arrest you, and take back leadership myself.” He lunged.

Optimus drew his ax and jumped at the same moment, meeting Sentinel before he crossed the room. The ax struck the tip of the lance, throwing Sentinel back. He recovered and thrust forward, allowing Optimus to lead him away from Megatron.

“Stop this,” Optimus growled.

“You first!”

Despite Sentinel’s clear hostility, Optimus stayed on the defensive, deflecting attacks but never making any. His hesitation was his defeat. Sentinel lowered the lance and rushed forward with his shield, and instead of swinging his ax, Optimus froze and was shoved into a table. It splintered and broke under him and the decorative fixtures that had been displayed upon it fell, striking him on the helm and chest.

Sentinel turned and darted towards Megatron. He crouched with his hands out, his top priority to protect the weakened and broken pieces of his shell. With a powerful thrust from its wielder, the lance came at him, and he reflexively dodged by rolling.

This proved to be too much stress for his fragile, worn-down body. As his shoulder hit the floor, he felt things give and snap. His chest plates popped open along the seam. Each auxiliary computer screamed about decreased integrity and reduced function. Megatron lay on his stomach and propped himself up on his hands to look at Sentinel.

Mostly he saw the lance. Sentinel’s snarling expression was off to the side. Even Megatron didn’t see Optimus coming up from behind, but he heard him, and he saw a hand descend onto Sentinel’s shoulder.

“Don’t—” Optimus barely got that word out. Sentinel yanked the lance out of Megatron’s face and whirled around, drawing his arm back for a thrust. He stabbed Optimus straight through the chest and out of his back.

His optics were round, his mouth drawn in a grimace that was more shocked than pained—his processor wouldn’t have even had time to register any agony. His knees buckled, and Sentinel let him slide off the lance’s shaft and onto the floor.

“N—” Sentinel’s head jerked side to side.

Megatron reached forward, snatched Optimus’s fallen ax, and, half-standing, took a swing at Sentinel’s legs. He cried out and crumpled to the floor, the lance going flying somewhere out of sight.

Standing with great effort, Megatron grasped Sentinel’s busted ankle and lifted. Though his computers complained, his limbs retained most of their strength; enough for this task, anyway. He threw Sentinel at the big picture window.

The glass broke with a cacophonous noise that almost absorbed Sentinel’s scream. He continued screaming on the way down until he abruptly stopped. Whether or not he was dead mattered little to Megatron at the moment. There was now something more important than revenge to consider.

Optimus was alive but unconscious. There was a ragged hole straight through his shell. Near the top, his spark chamber was exposed, and the EM field that protected his core was flickering dangerously. Beneath that, several of his internal components had been torn apart and leaked dark oil which gathered in a puddle on the floor. Megatron knelt by him and raised his hands over the wound, uncertain.

He dialed the only bot he knew could help. “Ratchet.”

“Why are you calling me?” Ratchet snapped.

“Optimus has been gravely injured and is close to death. You need to come here now.”

“What did you do?”

“I tried to help.” Megatron scowled. “Sentinel stabbed him in the chest. His spark chamber is damaged and he’s hemorrhaging fuel.”

“You expect me to believe Sentinel did that?”

“Tell me how to keep him alive.”

Ratchet sighed. “Pinch off as many of the broken fuel lines as you can. If the EM field around his spark disappears entirely, you’ll have to ignore that and find a way to reestablish the electrical circuit, so keep an optic on it but don’t worry about it right now. The bleeding is more serious until that happens. I’m on my way.”

Megatron couldn’t fit both hands in the wound, so he used one, pressing his digits into as many bleeding points as he could identify. It already felt like Ratchet was taking too long. “Where are you?”

“On my way,” Ratchet answered. “I’m calling Jazz. This is going to be a situation.”

He hadn’t thought of that. There was no more hiding for him—however today ended, Cybertron would know what Sentinel did to him and what happened after. They would know Optimus’s secret. He just hoped Optimus was alive to witness their judgment.

_ You have to live, _ Megatron thought.  _ We both do. _

He barely registered the sound of Jazz entering and running over.

“What happened?”

“Sentinel,” Megatron said numbly.

“I see.”

“If he’s alive, he’s outside somewhere. As soon as he’s found, as soon as people see  _ this _ …Optimus couldn’t hide me even if he was awake.” He paused. “I don’t want to hide anymore.”

In the distance, he heard Ratchet’s siren.  _ Not long now, _ he thought, squeezing Optimus’s broken lines tighter, so tight his own digits hurt.  _ You’ll be fine, and then… _

* * *

Optimus sat in his study, scrutinizing his notes so hard that his processor was beginning to hurt.

The last solar cycle had been one of the most hectic of his life, or so he was told. He was in stasis for a lot of it. Ratchet arrived with a medical transport litter and hauled him to the Cybertron Central Infirmary where a team of surgeons, Ratchet included, worked for hours to put him back together. Guards found Sentinel unresponsive but alive on the Metroplex roof, and more guards found Megatron in the Magnus suite. If Jazz hadn’t been there to defuse tensions, he probably would have been shot to pieces. He’d been put in stasis cuffs and left in the apartment, with Jazz being his only outside communication.

As soon as Optimus regained consciousness, he’d asked after both of them; he was relieved to hear that Sentinel was alive, and asked for Megatron to be taken out of cuffs. Cybertronian technicians were fast and skilled, and he was back home half a solar cycle after almost dying. The repair bots hadn’t even had time to fix his window yet.

The following half of the last solar cycle was spent hurriedly organizing for an address to the Cybertronian people in general. Ratchet disapproved of Optimus undergoing so much stress after surgery, but he knew it would be harder on himself mentally if he waited. This needed to be dealt with now.

“Magnus?”

Pulled from his reverie, he looked up from his desk and nodded at Megatron. “I’m almost ready. I just want to look this over one more time.”

“If you look at it too long, it’ll stop making sense.”

“What, like saying the same word over and over until it loses meaning?”

“I’m sure whatever you wrote is fine.”

Optimus stood with a sigh. “Fine, I’m coming.” He tucked the datapad into his shell, and they walked downstairs to the elevator.

He lifted a digit to open the cabin, but paused. “Megatron?”

“What?”

“You know they might ask you a lot of questions.” Optimus glanced over his shoulder at him. “You could not go.”

His gaze was mild, but he tilted his head back with an air of arrogance. “I can handle whatever they say about me or the war.”

“I meant about slave code.”

Megatron looked away. “That’s not even relevant to me anymore.”

“They’ll want to know.”

“I’m fine.”

“Okay.”

Optimus pressed the button and stepped into the open cabin with Megatron. Neither spoke on the way down. The door opened on the bottom floor and Optimus took point. There were guards all over, standing with their blasters across their chests and glaring at Megatron, making the atmosphere so much more tense than it needed to be.

In the lobby by the front entrance, he paused once more. He looked back at Megatron, who returned his gaze with quiet, expectant patience. It was still odd to see anything other than malice on a Decepticon, but he hoped everyone would get used to it soon. Someday all this conflict would be a distant memory, a phantom pain from a scar that had healed over.

Optimus turned back to the door and summoned his will. “Here we go,” he said, stepping through the door and into the beginning of their bright, distant future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the end! i'm so proud and happy to have done this. this isn't the longest piece i've ever written, not by a long shot, but it's the longest complete piece i've ever posted. before the Bang began, i debated joining, and there were times i seriously considered dropping out. i'm glad i didn't let myself do that; i love what i wrote and LOVE the art pieces. i can't wait to see what other events the fandom puts together and i hope to participate in as many as i can!
> 
> this year has been bizarre for me personally. i don't think i've ever experienced this many ups and downs in the same year and it's not even over. i've hit some of the lowest points of my life in the past few months, but also met great new friends and discovered interesting new aspects to my identity. i accomplished something!
> 
> the good things that have happened to me are almost all connected to Transformers, too! this fandom is amazing. i've only been here a year and hope i stay for a long time.
> 
> the sheer enthusiasm everyone shares over these wonderful dumb robots is downright delightful, and so encouraging for me as an author. i worried Remedy might get ignored due to not being romantic or explicit, but instead the amount of kudos, comments, etc. it's received blows me away. i prize any amount of attention, and this isn't what i would call one of the "big popular" fics by any means, but it is an ego boost, lol.
> 
> that's thanks to you the reader! thank you so much for every kudos, comment, bookmark--even if you just read it and didn't engage for whatever reason, thank you for paying attention. i read every comment, i get e-mails for kudos, and i check bookmarks for tags. g-mail's the first thing i look at when i wake up. i can't understate how much it all means to me, from the little comments that say "kudos!" to the longer ones reacting to things that happened in the chapter. i write for my own sake, but you guys make it worth it. 💜💜💜
> 
> thank you to charmehs and Chaoswolf12, my artists for this event! they were both great to work with and made such amazing pieces. it was a bit surreal to see my words turned into images; both exactly how i imagined the scenes but also surprising in the execution and details.
> 
> onto other news, i have ideas for a sequel to Remedy! that will likely not be written soon though. i'm currently working on an original continuity project called Fusion, and toiling over Baby Boom never ceases, plus i have other gift fics to write and seemingly infinite one-shot ideas. (unfortunately i have finite energy and focus.)
> 
> that's all i wanted to say! see you next time.


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